


Song Mingi and the Incredible Boy

by dayatiny



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Loves Song Mingi, Idiots in Love, Insecure Song Mingi, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Some angst, Song Mingi has a Lot of Feelings, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love, even if ur not in love with song mingi You're a Little in Love with Song Mingi, everyone is a weeb, mingi has big dreams, mingi is a mama's boy, mingi is tired of these mf rich kids, obligatory, or a love square ig, stan ATEEZ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayatiny/pseuds/dayatiny
Summary: Mingi moved to Seoul with his mom, his suitcase, and a dream.or,the mingi harem fic





	1. don't know you super well (but i think that you might be the same as me)

**Author's Note:**

> basically - mingi is a babe and everyone pursues him. that's it that's the fic

Song Mingi wakes to an unfamiliar, off-white ceiling. He rolls out of bed, squawking when he encounters cold hardwood instead of his old room’s carpet - just another thing he’ll have to get used to. 

He hauls himself up and slouches his way into the kitchen, deft fingers setting a pot of coffee on to brew. 

“EOMMA!” Mingi calls some 5 minutes later, struggling to jam his feet into their respective shoes. His mother bursts out of her room brandishing a tube of lipstick in one hand and a briefcase in the other. She’s tall and spindly, with short black hair that never seems to lay completely flat. She’s the most beautiful woman Mingi knows. 

“Oh, darling, what time is it?” She rushes around the kitchen, searching. 

“I already made it,” Mingi points to the reusable mug he set out prior to her arrival and answering her unspoken question. “And you’ve got 10 minutes to get to work, 5 if there’s traffic. Actually, there’s always traffic here, so,”

His mom plants a smacking kiss on his forehead before she flies out the door. Mingi whined spectacularly at the bright red mark it left on his forehead, fleeing to the bathroom to scrub it off. 

The cat-shaped digital clock sitting on the counter ticks loudly, and belatedly Mingi thinks, _fuck_. He checks himself out in the mirror self-consciously, running a hand through steely blue hair and making sure his sweater isn’t wrinkled before rushing out the door the same as his mom. He accidentally knocks shoulders with someone who he vaguely registers as being blonde in the lobby in his haste.

“Sorry, i’m really sorry!” he shouts over his shoulder. Mingi runs through the lobby and finally makes it out. He hops onto his bike as soon as he leaves the building, pedalling away. It’s only just starting to get light out, and Mingi can hear birds twittering away - he’s grateful for them. He hates dark and creepy places, and there’s nothing more unsettling than Seoul before the city has awaken. The birds remind him of home, and suddenly the streets seem a little brighter.

He’s a street from his destination a while later when the loud engine of a car rushing by nearly startles him off of his bike. He veers sharply to the left, and a different car, some expensive black beast with tinted windows, slams on its breaks to avoid making a Mingi-pancake on 6th Avenue. 

The driver rolled down their window. An older man with deep frown lines and an unfortunate hairstyle poked his head out of the car. 

“Don’t you look where you’re going? I could have killed you!” the man spit, and Mingi bowed several times. The man’s hair - if you could call it that? - moved when he talked. Not just regular movement, but like it was barely attached to his head. Mingi squinted at it. 

“Ah, i’m really sorry…”

“Even more, you could’ve scratched the car! Do you know how much this car costs? Do you have the money to pay damages if you had messed it up? This is my employer’s…” the man rambled on more, but Mingi wasn’t listening. He watched, fascinated, as what had to be a toupee flapped on the man’s scalp. Finally, the man seemed to reach the end of his rant, and Mingi snapped out of it, forcibly dragging his eyes away from the man’s lopsided hair.

“I’ll definitely take better hair- I mean, _care_ , next time, ahjussi!” Mingi blurted, bowing once more. As he turned to resume biking to school, he caught the gaze of the old man’s passenger. 

Sitting quietly in the front was a boy his age. He had dark hair swept to the side, and sharp eyes that Mingi jolted when he realized were trained on him. Their eye contact lasted at most for a few seconds, but it felt like a minute. Tall, dark and handsome broke eye contact first and Mingi fumbled for his handlebars.

Mingi got to school without any further incidents. In front of him was a towering architectural marvel of glass and steel, students with bright hair and immaculate outfits stepping out of equally-fancy vehicles en route to it. 

_Seoul Arts and Entertainment Preparatory Academy_.

Mingi took a deep breath, holding it in puffed-out cheeks and then slowly exhaling. It was gonna be a difficult adjustment, going from his local highschool back in his rural hometown to Seoul’s self-proclaimed _birthplace of stars_. And he’d never say it out loud, but Mingi was thoroughly intimidated already. He felt out of place - he couldn’t imagine being welcomed by these picture-perfect teenagers clad in Gucci and Chanel, noses high and credit card bills higher. Especially when he was only even _there_ because he was lucky enough to snag the one full-ride scholarship SAEPA offered every ten years in honor of the institution’s 30th anniversary by the skin of his teeth. 

It was hard not to feel the pangs of imposter syndrome. Mingi lived and breathed dance and rap - ever since he was a kid, he’d done every talent show, posted hundreds of covers to youtube, agonized over routines and lyrics for so many hours. And his friends and his mom supported him, god, they supported him so much - swore up and down Mingi’d be the next big thing, that he was already as good as it got. But Mingi wasn’t satisfied. Maybe he was greedy, but he knew he could do better - _be_ better, if only he could get to a place where he could learn and hone his craft. 

So when a kindly older man in a bowtie took him aside that fateful summer day after Mingi had performed at his local open-mic cafe and pressed a flier for SAEPA’s scholarship competition into his hand, it felt a little like fate. 

Even more groundbreakingly, he _won_. After so many long nights studying his academics and perfecting his audition piece, Song Mingi won the only SAEPA scholarship offered in ten years. Mingi felt like flying - until he had to present the flier to his mom. She had stared at it for so long. Mingi bit a hole in his cheek, heart thundering from his seat across the table from her. He’d never wanted anything more in his life. However, even though the scholarship covered tuition, the school was all the way in Seoul. They’d have to uproot and move if Mingi accepted the offer. And apartments in the city were expensive - his mom would have to get another job if the money from her writing gigs wasn’t enough. But most of all, they’d be leaving their house - the house they bought with Dad.

Finally, his mom stood up, pushing her chair back with a screech. She came around to his side of the table and Mingi braced for her refusal.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, and threw her skinny arms around his frame. 

And that was it. The Song family moved to Seoul, and today, Mingi stood, looking up at the reason why.

Shaking his thoughts away, Mingi lets himself be carried by the current of people into the building, and fishes out the schedule he was sent in the mail. 

“Homeroom with Ms. Kim,” Mingi read, looking up and around the hall. Everything looked the goddamn same. “Homeroom with Ms. Kim…”

He wandered for a bit, alternating between checking his watch nervously and scanning the halls. Right when he was about to resign himself to his fate of being late on his first day, a hand gently but firmly gripped his shoulder and wheeled him around.

Mingi stared at the person with bug eyes. A tall boy - taller than even _Mingi_ , which felt kinda weird because, well, Mingi was usually the tallest person in a room - with mischievous eyes smiled down at him. He had tousled, wavy chocolate brown hair that peeked out from underneath a bucket hat. Mingi wasn’t sure if dress-code allowed that. Mingi wasn’t sure if rich kids had to follow dress-code.

“Uh,” he said. The tall boy just kept looking at him.

“Do you need anything?” Mingi tried.

“No, but you look like you do,” the boy said finally, grinning at him. Mingi squinted at him, unsure if that was supposed to be some sort of jab and if this dude was really holding his shoulder hostage just to take shots at him at 7:30 in the morning.

“Let me see your schedule, I can point you in the right direction,” he elaborated. Mingi made a noise of understanding and handed over his schedule gratefully.

“Hmmm,” the boy hummed. He clapped Mingi on the shoulder suddenly. “You’re right around this corner here, she has a big sign with MS. KIM on it, you can’t miss it.”

“Oh, thank you,” Mingi sighed in relief. “This school is huge, y’know, there’s like a million hallways, much bigger than- well.” he stopped himself, because _wow, way to look like a total fucking bumpkin, Mingi,_ , and settled for just smiling awkwardly. The tall boy raised an eyebrow, a funny little smile on his face. “What’s your name again?” Mingi changed the subject.

“Y-” The sound of the bell rung through the hall, made worse by the fact that the two boys were standing directly next to a speaker in the hall. Mingi completely missed what the brunette said but blinked and nodded anyway. 

“I’m Song Mingi, thank you for your help!” Mingi waved and backed up a bit, ready to get his ass to homeroom.

The brunette waved jauntily, before turning around and jogging around the corner. A pair of cleats tied to his backpack bounced with every step. 

Mingi ducked into the the classroom loudly proclaimed MS. KIM and beelined for a seat in the back. Before he made it all the way, the teacher, a short, petite woman with a book in her hands beckoned to him loudly. 

“Song Mingi, come to the front of the classroom,” she called. Mingi hunched his shoulders- caught. He went back up to the front, where the tiny, intimidating lady was appraising him.

“You’re the scholarship student?” she said, not unkindly - but the rest of the class, having quieted considerably, must have been able to hear it. Mingi’s face burned.

“Yes, I am.” He fidgeted.

“Then perhaps the rest of you lazy bums can learn something from our new student!” she dropped her book on her desk loudly. “It’ll be nice to teach a student who actually values learning!” her voice boomed. _She’s terrifying,_ Mingi thought with no small degree of panic.

His fellow students broke out in good-natured complaints in response. Mingi broke out in sweat.

“I’ll be your homeroom teacher for the rest of your time at SAEPA. I’ve had these ingrates,” she gestured to the room at large, “for the last 3 years, so we know each other quite well, but don’t worry! You’ll catch up in no time. How about you start by introducing yourself? Who you are, what you’re studying, and what you like to do in your free time.”

Mingi nodded obediently, because what other choice was there? He turned to face the class. 

“My name is Song Mingi,” he began. “And i’m going to be studying Rap Performance and Composition as well as Performance Dance.” his eyes flickered over the students before him, before catching on a particular one sitting in the back row. There, leaning back uninterestedly in his seat and staring with an almost unnoticeable crease between his eyebrows, sat the very same boy in the car that almost hit him that morning. Something about his gaze made Mingi inexplicably nervous.

“A-and, I, uh,” he stammered, suddenly wanting nothing more than to sit _down_ already. He wracked his brain for something to say. “-like watching dramas.” he blurted.

“ _Oh,_ a _sensitive_ man,” a green-haired boy crowed from the second row. The class tittered. Mingi raised his eyes to the ceiling in prayer to whatever sympathetic god.

“Thank you, Mingi-ah. You can take a seat right by San over there.” Ms. Kim clapped her hands and directed Mingi to the seat adjacent to the boy who cracked the joke. Perfect.

He took his seat, getting out a pencil even though he was pretty sure they wouldn’t be doing anything on the first day. The joker, San, leaned over to whisper at him.

“ _Hey._ ”

“Yeah?”

“...do you have an extra pencil?”

Mingi stared at him for a moment before wordlessly handing his over.

“Thanks.”

Mingi turned back to listen to the teacher.

“ _Hey._ ”

“...do you need an eraser, too?”

“Nah. But you should join anime club. Do you watch anime? You look like you do. But probably just super entry-level ones. You like Bleach, don’t you.”

Mingi turned to look at San incredulously. “I do not!”

“You don’t watch anime or you don’t like Bleach?”

“I don’t _not_ like Bleach,” Mingi hedges. 

“So you’ll join anime club?”

“Wh-”

“Sweet. We meet afterschool on Fridays in the third practice room on the basement level. Also, call me hyung!” San winked and got out his phone, tapping something out noisily. 

“I can’t believe you were ridiculing my taste when you have a Sword Art Online lockscreen.” 

“I appreciate the work’s artistic vision.” San said breezily. 

A head of dark hair to San’s right lifted and turned from it’s position slumped over the desk. “Sannie-hyung.”

“Yes, my darling Jongho?”

“Please stop being a weeb so loudly. I think Ms. Kim is going to snap.” 

Mingi glanced up to see Ms. Kim carrying on about the syllabus with a strained edge to her smile. He cringed internally. San wisely didn’t comment further.

Mingi listened halfheartedly to the classroom rules and regulations Ms. Kim was explaining, head in the clouds. He wondered if he’d be able to find his next class easily, and if not, if that tall boy from earlier would help him, which led him to wondering why the hell everyone at this school is so _pretty_ , which led him to sneaking peaks at his seatmates to confirm his suspicion - god, San had dimples, the asshole, and Jongho was woefully doe-eyed, and - Mingi made a startled sound that perhaps most closely resembled the honk of a goose when San caught him staring and licked his lips salaciously. 

Ms. Kim stared him down. 

“I’m glad you’re getting familiar with your classmates! Now, would you do me a favor and pass out these papers?” she called.

Mingi nodded sorrowfully.

When he got to passing papers to the back row, he paused in front of the cold-looking boy’s desk and gave a small wave. 

“Hey, from this morning!” Mingi smiled a little - after all, it wasn’t this guy’s fault his driver was an asshole. And the fact that they had met before was a conversation starter! Mingi was _killing_ it at this making friends thing.

Mingi’s smile fell after it became clear the guy was just going to keep staring at him. 

“Or...not, I guess,” Mingi blinked.

“Can I have my paper?” The boy finally said, tonelessly. The two students flanking his desk on either side snorted, obviously having been listening in.

Mingi handed it to him with a frown and went back to his seat. So much for being friendly. 

“Seonghwa’s a real dickmunch,” San offered once Mingi had settled back down. “Don’t mind him, friend-o.”

“Ignore tweedle dumb and tweedle dumbass back there, too,” came Jongho’s muffled support.

Mingi quirked a smile at the two boys and their bizarre method of comfort.

“I’ll come to your stupid anime club.”

\------------------------------------------

In his next class, Rap Performance and Composition, Song Mingi fell in love.

It hit him like a bus, all at once. The teacher - a former rapper himself! - had sorted everyone into groups of three and had them freestyle with each other as an icebreaker. Mingi felt confident enough in his skills that he wasn’t at all shy when it was his turn - after all, these kids might’ve had better instruction, but Mingi had practice and experience under his belt.

But any feeling of having an advantage evaporated when, after the icebreaker, the teacher invited a young man with dirty blonde hair to the small stage at the back of the class to show off his freestyling. 

Mingi was infatuated with the boy’s style. It was only off the top of his head, but the boy - Hongjoong? the teacher mentioned - had such impeccable delivery and his _tone_ was so versatile - Mingi hadn’t even realized he was leaning forward in his seat until he knocked his waterbottle off his desk and onto the ground with a clang.  
Hongjoong stopped rapping and glanced at Mingi, as did every other pair of eyes in the room. Mingi smiled sheepishly, mouthing _accident_ and scrambling to pick up his bottle. Mentally, he cursed himself for cutting the boy short.

“Alright,” the teacher clapped his hands and directed Hongjoong back to his seat. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s get down to the real stuff.” The anticipation in the room was real. “...the history and origins of hip hop and rap!”

The class audibly sighed, clearly having been expecting something interactive instead of a history lesson. 

“In essence, who can tell me what hip-hop is - the purpose of it?”

The room was quiet. Mingi saw the teacher’s eyes go to Hongjoong, but quickly passed him over, probably having decided that he’d picked on him enough for a day. Mingi, unfortunately, made eye contact with the man.

“Transfer student?” he suggested.

“Well,” Mingi cleared his throat. “Everyone knows that it, y’know, started in America. And it was a vital expression of culture in the black community, and hip-hop, rap in particular, was a way for this group to kind of, speak out and express themselves creatively. It’s not just all _swag_ and acting cool, which I think we mistake it for a lot, it’s also political, and personal, and, well, that’s why it’s resonated so much across the world, I guess.”

The instructor beamed at him, and Mingi felt a rush of relief. The man carried on teaching and Mingi sunk back in his chair, idly doodling in his notebook in between notes. _I have really horrible handwriting,_ Mingi thought with dismay, squinting at his own lettering.

Soon enough class was over, and Mingi shot up out of his seat - nearly knocking his waterbottle over again but _haha, fuck you bottle_ caught it before it had the chance to fall. He rushed to catch the blonde boy, Hongjoong, before he left the classroom.

“Hey!” Mingi called. Hongjoong turned around with a questioning look from where he was packing his bag up.

“Uh,” Mingi said, intelligently. He had wanted to compliment the guy on his rapping earlier and apologize for interrupting and maybe ask to be friends but nothing was coming to mind.

“I really liked your answer earlier,” Hongjoong beat him to the punch. “It was really thoughtful!”

“Really? I mean- I really liked your freestyling today, you did so well, I was starstruck!”

“Ahh, I thought I stuttered a ton, I hate going up in front of the class-”

“You were amazing,” Mingi beamed. “I’m so sorry for interrupting, uh-”

“No!” Hongjoong reached up to ruffle Mingi’s silvery blue locks. Mingi blinked down at him, surprised at both the familiar move and how easily the shorter boy stretched to reach him. “I’m glad you liked it. Let’s talk later, okay?” 

And with a charming smile, Hongjoong was off. Mingi wondered what ‘later’ meant - was that an invitation to sit with him at lunch? Giddy, Mingi went on his next class.

 

\----------------------------------

As soon as Mingi walked into his Performance Dance class, he spotted the brunette who helped him find his way to homeroom that morning. Just as he raised his arm to wave, a petite boy with lavender hair latched onto it. 

“Mingi-hyung!” he chirped, interlacing their fingers. Mingi stared at their joined hands in puzzlement.

“I’m sorry,” he began awkwardly. “I must’ve forgotten your name..?” 

“Nah, you never got it in the first place,” he grinned. “I’m Wooyoung, and Jongho threatened to crack my head like an apple if I didn’t take care of you in this class.” Wooyoung sighed. “He’s so romantic.”

“Why would I need taking care of? Everyone’s been pretty nice so far today,” Mingi questioned, moving with Wooyoung to sit in a corner of the practice room as other students filed in.

“I’m sure they seemed that way,” Wooyoung hummed. “But bitches is sharks. Speaking of sharks, why were you about to wave to wonderboy Yunho over there earlier?” he jerked his chin in the direction of the tall boy in the bucket hat, who was standing in the middle of a swarm of students. Mingi made a mental note of his name.

“He was nice to me,” Mingi said in Yunho’s defense.

“ _Seemed_ nice,” Wooyoung reiterated, and fell silent as the instructor began to speak. 

“I know none of you brought clothes to dress down in, so we won’t be doing much today, but starting tomorrow, I expect everyone to bring clothes they can dance in. _Appropriate_ clothes you can dance in.” The instructor gave Wooyoung a stink eye.

“You show up in bootyshorts _one time_ , and they have it out for you for the rest of the year, oh my god.” Wooyoung grumbled, and Mingi tried to suppress a giggle.

The rest of the class is spent going through basic steps and routines, hardly anything to break a sweat over. Mingi feels like he’s floating the entire time - he loves dance, loves how his insecurities melt away, how satisfying it is to hit every beat. He doesn’t feel awkward, like his limbs are too long or his shoulders too broad, he feels strong, and powerful - liquid. Dancing has always been an escape for Mingi, a space where all that matters is the music and how he’s moving to it.

The last five minutes of class are free time, so Mingi and Wooyoung lay on the hardwood floor of the practice room opposite directions, a bit tired from the exercise.

“What if….fried chicken,” Wooyoung says wistfully.

“Maybe there’ll be bulgogi,” Mingi whispers.

“I think I’d actually kill someone to get milk tea added to our lunch menu.”

“But then you’d go to jail, where there’s no milk tea. I’d have to drink all the milk tea we’d get myself so you could live vicariously through me.”

“Bold of you to assume i’d get caught,” Wooyoung says, with unexpected seriousness.

Mingi shifts onto his elbows so he can squint at Wooyoung. The lavender haired boy holds his gaze. 

“Gotta do what you gotta do.” he says solemnly. The bell rings.

“O-kayyyyy,” Mingi stretches. Lunchtime. 

“C’mon! We have to find Sannie-hyung and Jongho before all the good tables get snatched!” Wooyoung squawks, grabbing Mingi by the hand and taking off out of the classroom. 

“I dunno,” Mingi pretends to ponder, walking deliberately slow despite the insistent yanking on his arm. “Wouldn’t it be kind of unwise to eat lunch with a potential murderer? I’m feeling kind of unsafe…”

“Song Mingi I swear to _god_ -”

\----------------------------------------------

“Fuck fuck fuck FUCK fuckity fuuuck!” Mingi yelped, dashing out of the SAEPA courtyard and making a beeline for the bike rack. The bike besides his looked oddly familiar, but Mingi couldn’t place it. Shaking it off, he struggled to unlock his bicycle, hands slipping in the rainwater coursing over his fingers.

Despite how nice of a day it had been, the sky spontaneously decided to open up and drench Mingi as soon as class got out. He eyed with no small degree of envy all the rich kids sliding into their pretty cars that probably had _heated seats_.

He got his bike unlocked and hopped on, but before he could even adjust his feet on the peddles a pair of large hands reached into his line of vision, securing an open yellow umbrella to his bike’s basket. Mingi had to duck so his head wouldn’t bump the top of it.

“Trying to catch a cold on the first day, scholarship student?” the voice, oddly warm despite its words, belonged to the boy Mingi had met earlier - Yunho.

Mingi peered up from underneath the shell of the umbrella, confirming his suspicions. It was Yunho, bucket hat and all. Mingi tried to remember if he’d told Yunho he was the scholarship student or if word just travelled that damn fast around the school.

“Don’t you need this?” Mingi questioned, ignoring the jab. He was kind of clueless as to why Yunho was going out of his way to help him.

“Nah. I don’t get out of this place till after soccer practice, and it’ll have cleared up by then,” Yunho grinned crookedly. “Stay dry, Princess Mingi!”

Mingi gaped at his retreating back. His cleats swung from their place tied to his backpack. As if Yunho could sense Mingi’s stare, Yunho waved without turning around.

“Thanks!” Mingi called, jingling the bell on his bike a few times for good measure. A few straggler students who hadn’t left the campus yet stared blatantly at him, and Mingi flushed in embarrassment.

About halfway home, Mingi noticed that there were little cartoon brown bears printed in a pattern across the yellow umbrella.

 _Cute_ , he thought, turning into his apartment lot.

\------------------------------------------------

 

Mingi set the noodles on to boil and retreated to his room. His mom wouldn’t be home until late - but that was okay. Mingi was good at fending for himself, and with him cooking, he could set food aside for her to warm up when she got home, so she wouldn’t have to make food after a long day at the office.

It was the least he could do, considering she was only working so much to support him and his dream. Not for the first time Mingi felt a gnawing guilt as he flopped onto his bed, staring up at his plain ceiling. His room at home, his real home, had glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to it from when he was a kid. He missed it.

Back in their sleepy hometown, his mom was a writer, working on novels and occasionally publishing op-ed pieces for the local newspaper. It didn’t make a lot of money, but it was enough, and she was happy. Now, she worked in a marketing office, and came home sluggish each night from, quote, _a long day dealing with dumbasses._

Mingi’s dad left when he was nine years old. Mingi was up early one Friday morning watching cartoons before school in his footie pajamas when his father came down the stairs with his suitcase along with the briefcase he usually took with him to work. The man explained that he had some extra things he had to take with him to the office and Mingi accepted it completely. Alarm bells still weren’t ringing when his father crouched down to his height and made Mingi solemnly promise to always take care of his mother. His dad told Mingi to be the man of the house while he was gone - and Mingi assumed he meant just till he was back from work. Dad said to never make his mom stressed and to be a good kid and to work hard in school, and Mingi rolled his eyes at the lecture and agreed. His father crossed the threshold of the house with a wave and a smile, and Mingi locked the door after him.

That was the last time Mingi spoke to his father. His mother was distraught for a long time - her phonecalls didn’t go through, no one around town had seen the man - it was like Mingi’s father had vanished without a trace.

Mingi shook his head to banish the upsetting thoughts, and did what he usually did when he had too much on his mind - he got out an envelope and some letter paper, and begin to write. 

_Hey, penpal._

_This’ll be coming to you from a new address…._

\----------------------------------

By the time Mingi was done writing to his nameless, faceless friend, the noodles were done, and Mingi served himself a portion before tupperwaring the rest.

He’d been writing to his penpal since...actually, since not too long after his dad disappeared. His mom had suggested it, to help him ‘heal’ or whatever, and he signed up for it through an online forum. 

He knew a lot about his pen pal. Knew his favorite color, his favorite cereal - knew when he had his gay crisis and when he failed his first math exam. He knew pretty much everything except the boy’s name. They had never tried to arrange a meet-up or tried to figure out who the other was - and in a way Mingi was grateful. Throughout it all, the one constant in his life was his penpal. When he had first moved to Seoul to attend SAEPA, his hometown friends made a token effort to keep contact with him. But eventually they stopped answering Mingi’s calls, checked up less and less often, stopped texting back. It made Mingi sad, to lose them to distance, but the fact that his penpal would keep writing to him through it all comforted him.

Mingi alternated between decorating the envelope that contained his most recent letter with hearts and animal stickers and eating his food. Mingi got up once he finished his two tasks and stretched, looking up at the blank ceiling - and got an idea.

Mingi clambered out onto his apartment’s small balcony, eyes eagerly drinking in the clear night. It was nothing like home, but it made him happy nonetheless.

Slowly Mingi became aware of a soft hiphop beat drifting up from below, and nosily poked his head over the balcony. He almost choked in surprise when he recognized none other than Hongjoong, leaning against the fire escape ladder and listening to a small dial radio with his eyes closed.

Somehow, like he was alerted to Mingi’s presence, Hongjoong’s eyes snapped open. 

“Hey,” he called. He lazily flashed a peace sign.

Mingi gaped.

Hongjoong pushed himself up from his sitting position, and, without further ado, grabbed his radio and began climbing the fire escape. Mingi could only watch, dumbfounded.

Finally, Hongjoong was sitting on Mingi’s balcony with him, eyes crinkled up in a grin. 

“Told you i’d see you later. I was gonna bike home with you afterschool, too, but you jetted.”

“I- how do you live here?”

“Well, see, rent is something you pay in order to-”

“No- I know,” Mingi flushed, fumbling for words. “But _why_ do you live here.”

“Ohhhhh,” Hongjoong hummed. “You thought I was a rich kid.”

“I mean-”

“No, it’s okay...I just thought you knew me better than that is all….It’s fine…”

“I’ve spoken to you once!”

“Just say you hate me, Mingi-ah. It’s alright.”

“Hyung!”

Hongjoong laughed loudly. “No, it’s a reasonable question. I’m pretty sure not a single other SAEPA kid’s parents make less than six figures.” Mingi hummed in agreement.

“But i’m a teacher’s kid, so I get my tuition covered,” Hongjoong finished.

“Ah, that’s so cool,” Mingi marveled.

“Not really, it just means that all the teachers who don’t like Ms. Kim bully the fuck outta me,” Hongjoong grumbled. “You see the shit Mr. Jeong pulled today in rap? Totally put me on the spot.”

Mingi winced in sympathy, but secretly appreciated Mr. Jeong’s meddling - he was glad to have heard Hongjoong rap. But..

“Wait, Ms. Kim?!”

“Yeah?”

“....that’s my homeroom teacher.”

“Cool, i’ll tell her to grade you especially harshly,” Hongjoong teased, and Mingi blanched.

“Please no. She’s already scary.”

“She is.”

They were quiet for a few moments, before Hongjoong finally spoke. 

“Why’d you come out here, anyway?”

Mingi hummed, eyes drifting back up to the sky. 

“Wanted to see the stars. You can see them so much better from my old house - there’s so much light pollution in Seoul you can barely make them out.” he replied. “It’s kind of sad…”

Hongjoong didn’t respond, so Mingi tried to amend his previous statement to lighten the mood.

“It’s not a big deal or anything. They're only stars, so, who cares really,” Mingi tried, laughing a little.

“I think it’s cool you care,” Hongjoong said finally. “I wish you could see them here, too. Fuck light pollution.” 

Mingi broke into a smile, surprised. Hongjoong returned his grin.

“Thanks.”

 

_____________________________

That night, Mingi dreamed of angry eyes, soccer cleats, and stars.


	2. just another graceless night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no update! I'll be adding another chapter in addition to this update soon cuz I've got a lot of it written already. thank you to everyone who left a comment last chapter, it made me really happy! I hope you're liking the story so far <3

“I’m going to be Sailor Neptune.” Choi San mumbled through the pen cap is his mouth, coloring in the blue lapels he drew on the plain white shirt with frightening focus and determination.

Mingi stared at him, trying to recall whether or not he even asked what the boy was doing in the first place. He watched San curse after his expo marker ran out of ink, flinging it into the closely-placed garbage can. Said garbage can was filled with discarded white t-shirts that hadn’t met San’s standards after he finished decorating them. Mingi wasn’t entirely sure why San was handmaking his costume when he could most certainly afford to have a tailored men’s Sailor Neptune cosplay made and delivered expressly, but when he tried to suggest it he was met with an indignant rant from San about how _my love is AUTHENTIC, you inconsiderate fuck!_

It had been 5 weeks since Mingi’s debut at SAEPA, and it went by surprisingly quickly. He never would have predicted that only a bit over a month after his first day he’d be hunched over a tacky DIY cosplay in an abandoned practice room with his first three friends in Seoul, getting increasingly dizzy with ink fumes. The world works in mysterious ways.

Currently, it was the Friday before Spirit Week at SAEPA would commence. Although according to Jongho few students took it seriously, almost everyone participated - including the four out of five of Anime Club’s highly esteemed members crouched over what looked like craft store vomit on a lovely Friday afternoon.

The fifth member, Kang Yeosang, was conspicuously absent, and it was because of his timely disappearance that San’s DIY panic was even happening.

“He can’t know,” San had vowed at the beginning of their meeting. “This is an opportunity from God.”

From what Mingi had observed, San had that kind of unfortunate and all-consuming crush on Kang Yeosang that was typically reserved for actors or idols or other seemingly perfect beings. Mingi didn’t know Yeosang very well - he was a short boy with somewhat large ears and a handsome face who only occasionally spoke in multiple sentences, but from San’s constant ranting Mingi felt like he could write a book about the boy. Yeosang was in practically every elective; there wasn’t a single day of the week he wasn’t in an afterschool club or sport, he apparently had a brother, he loved sweets - San knew it all and relayed it with alarming accuracy.

So when Wooyoung had demanded they all dress up as the guardians from Sailor Moon for upcoming Character Day, San immediately called dibs on Sailor Neptune and Uranus for himself and the absent Yeosang. And it was imperative Yeosang was unaware about this until San presented his finished costume to him on Monday.

“So why do you absolutely need Yeosang to be Uranus again? What if he doesn’t wanna be?” Jongho, the little instigator, inquired faux-innocently.

San grimaced at him. “Because I have green hair and he’s blonde. It’s perfect.” 

“Ah, so then it’d be fine if Yeosang-hyung went as Venus instead?” Mingi hummed gleefully, joining in on the teasing.

“No!” San made a dramatic ‘X’ with his arms. “Absolutely not. Because…”

“Because?” Wooyoung snatched San’s pen and, as soon as San made a move to retrieve it, shoved it securely down his sweatpants. Mingi squinted in disgust at the grinning purple-haired boy.

“Because a blue uniform would suit him better than orange.” San huffed, turning his nose up.

“Sannie-hyung,” Mingi began, gravely. “It’s alright to say you have a burning need to cosplay a lesbian couple with Yeosang-hyung. It’s not like its hugely embarrassing or anything.” 

“What’s hugely embarrassing is how hard you cried over Nam Joohyuk’s character in episode fifteen of-” San began, before Mingi toppled him over with a cry, effectively silencing the boy. Wooyoung and Jongho flopped over onto the both of them. The four teenagers rested in a clumsy pile for a moment.

“Which sailor should I be?” Mingi mused, jabbing his elbow at where Jongho’s knee was digging into his kidney.

“Moon. You’re the shoujo protagonist type.” was San’s immediate muffled response. Mingi pulled his ears in retaliation.

“No, but he is,” Wooyoung said, with growing horror. “P.. Princess Minky...Song Mingi...coincidence? _I think not._ ”

Mingi furrowed his brows, feeling a niggling sense of deja vu, trying to recall when he’d been called that before. A lightbulb flashed.

“Oh!” Mingi exclaimed. “Yunho-ssi calls me that all the time.” The boy in question actually ran into Mingi surprisingly often considering how few classes they shared. And it always seemed to be in moments of crisis - the latest example being just the day before. Mingi had been struggling valiantly to open his locker, fiddling with the lock every which way and even taking to pleading verbally with the damn thing. After deciding he’d just have to forgo his math textbook that period, he turned around to meet the eyes of none other than Jeong Yunho. The brunette had his hands in his jacket pockets, mouth quirked attractively as he observed Mingi’s plight. Mingi stumbled back against his locker in surprise at his proximity, and Yunho heaved a put-upon sigh. 

“There’s a method to it, Princess Mingi,” he had tsked, before physically shifting a wide-eyed Mingi away from his lock and proceeding to open it in a single try.

Mingi’s school life was rife with incidents like that thus far - and despite Yunho’s seeming friendliness in those isolated moments, Mingi quickly learned not to expect the same amiability around others. When Mingi made the unfortunate mistake of trying to invite Yunho to sit with him and his friends at lunch, braving the eyes of Yunho’s seemingly-endless gaggle of admirers and friends, he was met with silence and a blank stare. Mingi excused himself without another word as the awkward pause stretched on - embarrassed, a tad bit hurt, but mostly angry at himself for assuming the other boy had wanted friendship at all. The same result occurred when Mingi would smile at the tall boy in the hallways or attempt to strike up a conversation in Dance. It seemed Yunho only enjoyed interacting with him on his own terms, and it was bizarre. Mingi couldn’t think of a reason as to why he was so hot-and-cold other than Mingi being too embarrassing to truly befriend.

The other three boys rolled out of their makeshift cuddle-pile with wrinkled noses after Mingi’s exclamation. 

“Now that I think about it, that must be why he says it,” Mingi carried on, oblivious to the change in mood. “Who would’ve thought golden boy Jeong Yunho watched _Princess Minky_? It’s actually kind of hilarious…” he trailed off, blinking at the grimace on Jongho’s face.

“Fuck that guy.” Jongho announced. Wooyoung slapped a hand over the baby of the group’s mouth for swearing with a scandalized noise, only to then pull it away sharply, palm wet. Jongho smiled smugly.

Mingi wisely didn’t inquire further into the matter. Whenever Yunho popped up in conversation, the mood quickly soured. Mingi wasn’t sure why, and none of his three friends ever really elaborated. 

It probably wasn’t a big deal.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Monday came, and Mingi endured colossal shaming from San and Jongho for forgetting to dress up for Character Day.

“I thought we were _friends_ ,” San had shouted as soon as Mingi stepped into homeroom, conspicuously costumeless. Mingi cringed and took his seat against the backdrop of San’s indignant shouting and his classmates’ stares.

“In the name of the moon, i’m gonna punish you,” Jongho intoned, mercilessly jabbing Mingi in the sides with his pencil.

“I had a lot going on over the weekend! It completely slipped my mind,” was his weak response, batting at Jongho’s hands. 

“You’re a disgrace.” Jongho wasn’t hearing it.

“You’re tearing this family _apart_ , Mingi-ah.” San was decidedly unimpressed.

“Yeosangie and I are filing for immediate divorce and it’s all your fault. Jongho, who would you and Wooyoung rather live with?”

“Hyung. Why does Wooyoung have to be my brother in this scenario.”

“Ahh, I guess that’d be a tad incestuous…”  
“WHY WOULD THAT BE INCESTUOUS.” Jongho said maybe a little too loudly, the tips of his ears red. Ms. Kim glanced warily in their direction from where she sat preparing the lesson at her desk, but said nothing, unfortunately used to their antics. Mingi tried to muffle a snort. The two youngest of their friend group had an odd, Tom-and-Jerry-esque dynamic, but underneath that was, according to San, ‘a deep and passionate burning love’. (San had a bruise on his shoulder that lasted a week after Jongho caught him explaining this to Mingi.)

San’s head whipped around to fix an accusing glare on Mingi.

“Not the point, Jongho-ah. We have a traitor in our midst.”

“Hyung, what were you saying about Yeosang? Did you give him his costume?” Mingi smiled brightly, making a gamble for distraction.

As expected, San swooned. “I did,” he preened, and then made a vaguely sick expression. “But there’s an issue.”

“Hyung…” Mingi breathed, devastated. Despite all his jokes, he really was rooting for the green haired boy to woo Yeosang with his ugly Sailor Uranus shirt. After a moment of hesitation, Mingi wrapped his arms around the older boy and tugged him close. “..it’s okay. Maybe he’s just not looking for a relationship right now,” he awkwardly comforted.

“What?” came San’s bewildered reply. “No, he accepted the shirt. He’s wearing it today. The problem is when we were talking he invited me to hang out at his house tonight.”

Mingi gasped, pushing San away. “Swear!”

“I swear! And - what the hell, do I only get physical affection when you mistakenly assume i’m emotionally distressed?” San whined, reaching out to grab Mingi. 

“You’re so embarrassing! Also, how is that an issue?!” Mingi’s voice cracked, ducking out of San’s hold. 

“‘Cuz Sannie-hyung is a little bitch,” Jongho said, solemnly. San squawked something about getting _no respect in this household!_

“He’s too scared to go alone because he’s not sure if Yeosang-hyung meant to invite Choi San singular or Choi San the unit,” Jongho summarized, gesturing between himself and Mingi. 

Mingi made a noise of understanding. “So he wants one of us to go with him.”

“ _He_ is sitting right next to you,” San butted in. “And since Jongho hates me and wishes a plague upon my household, you’re the only option, Mingi-ah.”

Mingi cleared his throat awkwardly. Truthfully, he didn’t know Yeosang that well, and certainly not well enough to invite himself over to his house without getting personally asked. 

“It’s the only way to make it up to me,” San continued, solemnly gesturing at Mingi’s lack of matching sailor guardian shirt.

“Can’t Wooyoungie or him go instead?” Mingi pleaded, pointing accusingly at Jongho, who made a funny face.

“No, because they’re each others’ excuse.”

“I promised hyung i’d take him to the new milk tea place that opened up near his house,” Jongho said gruffly, flaring his nostrils in the habitual way he did when he was embarrassed. 

Deciding not to respond to that for the sake of his physical safety, Mingi turned to San. After a short deliberation, he sighed. 

“...if I feel like a third wheel i’m leaving.”

“I promise you won’t!”

\--------------------------------------

In Rap Performance and Composition, the professor announced an upcoming project.

“All of you will be expected to compose lyrics for a short, 1 minute piece and perform it for the class to a beat of your choice. Everyone’s piece is expected to be original, appropriate, and show your strengths as a writer. I’ll give you class-time to work on it starting today.”

And with that the class was off, immediately bunching into partners and groups to gossip about their plans for the assignment. Mingi unzipped his pencilcase - yellow and minion shaped, to his disgust. It was a gift from Hongjoong, who had offhandedly mentioned he bought an extra on accident the previous week before passing it to Mingi. Despite mercilessly teasing the older boy about his taste, Mingi accepted it and had been using it since.

Hongjoong himself flopped down into the seat next to Mingi a moment later. 

“Got any ideas?” Mingi questioned, turning to smile widely at him. Hongjoong had become a treasured friend quickly - almost every night they met out on the fire escape of their building, either listening to music or ranting or just enjoying each other’s company. Mingi loved Jongho, Wooyoung, and San, but there was something about Hongjoong that made Mingi feel at home unlike anyone else. Out on the fire escape with the older boy, he suddenly didn’t feel like as much of an outsider. He wasn’t sure why Hongjoong stuck to him, out of all the people in the class - no, the _school_ ; the blonde was stylish, good-looking, smart, and other students just seemed to intrinsically respect him. Despite that, Mingi hadn’t once seen Hongjoong sitting with a group at lunch or talking to anyone other than Mingi in their shared class - so perhaps it was due to lack of options?

“Yeah, was thinking about... a Mr. Jeong disstrack,” Hongjoong hummed conspiratorially. “I’ll go all out, too, talk about his alcoholism, how he never grades on time, his baldspot…”

“Hyung!” Mingi tried to smother his giggles, mindful of the man in question patrolling the classroom. “How do you even know about the alcoholism?”

“Mom told me.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Wanna know more? Your dance teacher is having an affair with-”

Mingi covered his ears with a scandalized gasp. 

“ _Please don’t make me think about my teachers getting it on._ ”

“Alright, alright. What’re you doing for yours, then, my beloved Mingi-ah.” The older boy reached forward to pinch Mingi’s cheeks. Mingi made what he hoped to be a spectacularly ugly face at him in return. Hongjoong didn’t seem to mind.

“Hwell,” Mingi lisped through the grip on his face. “I wath thinking thomething leth aggrethive than what I nowmally write?”

Interested, Hongjoong let go of his cheeks. “Like how?”

“I mean, you’ve heard the stuff I’ve done before, on _Fix On,_ ” Mingi hedged, referring to how, after only two weeks of knowing each other, Hongjoong had managed to get his youtube channel user out of him, much to Mingi’s embarrassment. The blonde had been nothing but impressed over Mingi’s original works and covers, but Mingi still felt shy about it. “I was thinking like...a sing-songy rap? Ah, but I can’t sing...Just, a gentler flow?”

Hongjoong made a noise of affirmation despite Mingi’s paltry explanation. 

“If its you, I think it’ll sound amazing,” was his automatic response, and Mingi rolled his eyes, unable to stop a small smile of delight from showing on his face.

“I’ll be back to help you brainstorm in a sec,” Hongjoong got up and stretched briefly. Mingi marvelled at how cool he was for probably the millionth time since they’d met - the litheness of his body, how despite his shorter height his presence was no joke. Kim Hongjoong was a teacher’s kid, managed to rock an out-of-style mullet, and watched Modern Family religiously on days off - and exuded a confidence Mingi couldn’t even dream of.

The other boy grabbed the bathroom pass and disappeared, and Mingi yawned, glancing around the classroom absentmindedly. He caught a flash of teal in the corner of his eye and turned to see a short boy with a long, narrow face, bowl-cut hair a shocking blue sitting directly behind his chair. Mingi startled from the proximity, and by the look on the kids’ face, he didn’t expect Mingi to notice him.

“Hi, i’m-”

“Minwoo-ssi, right?” Mingi smiled at the kid, confused. While his classmates generally didn’t go out of their way to ostracize Mingi, aside from some unfortunate exceptions, they also rarely engaged with him. It was just an inevitable consequence of being new to a school where everybody knew everybody and their parents. Mingi wondered how long the kid had been sitting behind him.

An annoyed look flashed over the kid’s face, before his expression smoothed out. Mingi wondered if he imagined it. “Yeah, hello. Just..I wanted to know if you had a pencil.” he said, words oddly rushed.

Mingi dug around in his pencil pouch, which seemed to suddenly only produce pens. 

“Just a second,” Mingi said, flustered and continuing to search the ugly minion pouch. He glanced up and caught Minwoo’s eyes, which were riveted to the pouch. “Ah, Joongie-hyung gave it to me. It’s silly, right?” he quirked a smile.

Minwoo’s brow furrowed. “Why would he give it to _you_?” he asked, tone a bit rude. Mingi squinted, wondering if he heard wrong. The boy’s requested pencil dangled from his fingertips. He heard the classroom door open and Minwoo sprung into action, swiping the pencil and moving several seats away without so much as a ‘thanks’.

Hongjoong returned to his seat besides Mingi, tugging on Mingi’s faded silvery-blue hair where it hung in his eyes for attention. Shaking his head a bit, Mingi turned to face his friend with a grin.

\---------------------------------

 

Mingi was not prepared for the wrath of Jung Wooyoung.

“You _motherfucker,_ ” the purple haired boy announced, clutching his chest dramatically. “We were supposed to do a group costume!”

“And you are, just...with one less member?” Mingi smiled hopefully. He was pinched on the thigh for his efforts.

“I’m so angry right now.” Wooyoung said, very normally. Mingi tried not to giggle at the contrast. “I should just ignore you for the rest of the period. Butthole.”

Mingi frowned automatically. “Ahh, please don’t,” he said, uncomfortable with the prospect. He didn’t know anyone else in the class very well - aside from, debateably, Yunho - and he felt bad at the thought that he legitimately upset his friend.

Wooyoung breathed out of his nose like a tea kettle. He reached out to yank Mingi’s head down to his height, smushing his face. “You’re very lucky, Song Mingi,” he said accusingly, before pushing him away. 

“I have a solution. Having no spirit is lame, hyung.” Wooyoung took his Sailor Venus red bow out of his hair and situated it in Mingi’s instead. Mingi accepted it without any fuss.

“Wooyoungie. Wooyoungie.” the boy in question looked at at him where where he stopped to tie his sneakers.

Mingi did what he hoped to be truly horrific aegyo, scrunching his face and puckering his lips at the purple-haired boy, shaking the bow on his head around and hoping to get a laugh. He succeeded, Wooyoung collapsing on the practice room floor in peals of squeaky laughter. Mingi did a short victory dance before their instructor called their attention.

“You know what day it is! Get to stretching and make a new friend.” Ms. Park shouted, before returning to her makeshift desk in the corner of the practice room to take attendance.

On every Monday of the week, Ms. Park required the students to find a new stretching partner to warm up with. The idea was to get students to actually talk to one another, rather than cliqueing up as SAEPA students were wont to do, but in actuality it just meant stretching in silence with a partner you barely know and rushing through the exercises one day of the week. Ms. Park’s eyes were too sharp for any student to dare try and cheat the system by sticking to a friend.

Mingi and Wooyoung exchanged a soulful, shimmering glance before Wooyoung was regretfully torn away by one of his many admirers. Despite not hanging out with the coolest people - i.e. Mingi and the rest of Anime Club -, Wooyoung was plagued with popularity as a result of being, of course a pretty, fit, and talented guy, but also the vice-chairman of a major entertainment company’s son.

Mingi stood, hands twisting in front of him, trying to catch someone in the class’ eye who was similarly struggling to branch out. Unbidden, he glanced at Jeong Yunho, and quickly averted his eyes when he noticed the taller boy was staring back. He wouldn’t even try to ask Yunho - there wasn’t any point in getting embarrassed in front of the guy’s friends again.

A moment later, Mingi turned at a tap on his shoulder. _Speak of the devil_ , he thought.

“Uh...hey?” he said cautiously, peeking at Yunho from under his bangs. He distractedly reached up to push them back, gaze caught on Yunho’s get-up. Clearly, the brunette was going for Harry Potter - round spectacles, and a side-part to show off a hastily scribbled scar on his forehead. Mingi thinks that it’s gravely unfair how handsome he is despite the dorky getup.

“Hey, partner,” Yunho answers easily, tugging Mingi down to the hardwood floor of the practice room. “Me first?”

“Y-yeah,” Mingi says, a beat too late to sound natural, before moving to help Yunho stretch out. He’s hesitant to touch the other boy at first, but pushes through the awkwardness of manhandling someone he’s accepted he’s maybe-slightly-possibly a tad bit attracted to with some difficulty.

Mingi studiously keeps his eyes a little over Yunho’s head the whole time to avoid getting caught checking him out. Every so often, Yunho will groan quietly, a deep noise that makes the hairs on Mingi’s neck stand up, and his eyes will dart down before rising again resolutely. 

Mingi reflects over how hot-and-cold the taller boy is. Mingi is never sure if Yunho is annoyed by him or not - but sometimes, when his self-deprecating thoughts are at low simmer instead of a raging oil fire in his head, Mingi entertains the thought of Yunho maybe having an interest in him. Of maybe holding hands with him in the hallway, or maybe going a date at a nice restaurant, or maybe kissing goodbye on a doorstep. But Yunho ignores him in the hallways, Mingi’s too broke too be spending frivolously on a date anyway, and he’s pretty sure with who Yunho is his parents would sue Mingi the second he stepped foot on their property. Mingi tries not to think too much about that. It was just a superficial crush - he doesn’t need Yunho to like him. Just..a little less of him alternating between doting on Mingi and snubbing him would be nice.

They switch after Yunho is finished. Yunho starts by pressing Mingi’s back down between his spread legs gradually. 

“So what’s with the bow?” Yunho begins conversationally. Mingi’s eyebrow twitches. He had to courtesy not to strike up conversation with Yunho while he was stretching - it’s kind of an unspoken rule, but Yunho seems to have no such qualms.

“I’m - ah - it’s for character day,” Mingi answers, wincing when Yunho presses just a little too hard.

“I got that part,” come the amused huff from behind him. “But who are you? I’m Harry Potter.” 

“Uh - sailor guardian. Like - from sailor moon, Anime Club’s idea,” Mingi breathes.

Yunho’s hands pause on Mingi’s shoulders for a second. “Ah..I actually used to be a member of that club! Small world, I guess.” Mingi blinked, feeling a part of some puzzle click in his mind. Maybe that’s why his friends disliked Yunho so much? Because he quit the club? He’d have to look into it further.

Mingi breathed through the feeling of his muscles losing their tension. Typically, he was pretty flexible despite being tall, but having Yunho close enough behind him to feel his body heat was making him tense with nerves. At one point, Mingi’s leg moved out of position, and when Yunho pressed it back with a grip on his thigh and shoulder Mingi felt like he was going to spontaneously combust. His voice may or may not have cracked embarrassingly in the middle of his sentence because of this.

Mingi turned to face Yunho to do the next stretch, which was somehow worse. Mingi was pretty sure Yunho was purposefully tormenting him - asking questions right before pressing or pulling just a little too hard on his arms or legs so Mingi had to struggle not to squeak through his sentences or something equally humiliating. The brunette’s eyes twinkled mischievously as always.

“Ah,” Mingi said suddenly, a thought coming to him when Yunho eased off for a moment. “I never returned your umbrella to you!”

Yunho made a considering noise, so Mingi continued. “I don’t know if you remember, but on my first day it rained and you gave it to me. The yellow one? With the bears? I still haven’t given it back,” 

“Ah, well, that won’t do,” Yunho said slowly, a considering look on his face.

Mingi beamed at him. “I’ll just return it to you tomorrow, then.”

“But, I think it’d be a burden for me if you did,” Yunho interjected swiftly. “After all, the weather’s supposed to be sunny all week. I don’t want to have to lug an umbrella around anyway.”

Mingi deflated. “Ah, I guess you’re right...but then when would it be alright to give it back?”

“It can’t be helped,” Yunho sighed. “I’m hosting a small party Friday night at my house, you can just bring it over then,” he quirked a smile, and Mingi felt abruptly dizzy. 

Yunho fished a pen out of his sweats pocket and neatly traced out his phone number on Mingi’s arm. Mingi struggled not to twitch under the tickling sensation. “Just text me on Friday, and you can bring those Anime Club guys too,” he instructed, giving the younger boy a thumbs up. Mingi found it off he didn’t refer to them by name.

“Uh, yes, okay,” Mingi said slowly. They both stood up, and other partner pairs seemed to be about done as well. “I’ll see you then, Yunho-ssi?” he trailed off, feeling odd about calling Yunho so formally despite how many times they’d interacted but too awkward to ask if he could call Yunho casually. 

“Yunho- _hyung_ ,” the brunette seemed to read his mind, correcting him firmly. He lingered for a moment, even though other students were returning to their respective friend groups. 

“And.. stop acting cute, Princess Mingi,” Yunho scolded after a beat. He reached out and flicked the bow Mingi had in his hair before turning tail and jogging back to his gaggle of friends. Mingi blinked at the back of his head, slow and wide. 

Wooyoung guides him back to their spot when it becomes clear that otherwise Mingi would just stay in the middle of the floor self-destructing. “God, he’s annoying,” Wooyoung grumbles, staring venomously at Yunho from across the practice room. 

“He’s so confusing,” Mingi whines, grasping Wooyoung’s hands in his. “You saw that, right? I’m not crazy?” he stressed. “I’m never sure whether he thinks i’m annoying or if he, I dunno, actually likes me as a person? I think he just invited us to a party on Friday. That lends to the ‘likes me as a person’ theory, right?”

“He definitely likes your thighs,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, still squinting at the brunette on the other side of the room.

“Ah, sorry, Wooyoungie, what was that?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

Before Mingi could pester him further, Ms. Park clapped her hands and began practice.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Mingi slips through his apartment door, mindful of the low doorframe from having nearly concussed himself one too many times. Their old house had wonderfully high ceilings, and tall as he was Mingi had never nearly brained himself on anything before - just another small change that rankled him about his new residence. Toeing off his shoes, he yawned earth-shatteringly loud and flopped, boneless, onto the sofa. It had been a long day and all Mingi wanted to do was sleep it off, but he had so much he had to do...besides homework, the dishes needed to be done and he needed to put on a load of laundry, and dinner wasn’t cooked yet and his mom would be getting off at 9pm and he couldn’t very well leave it all for her to do…not to mention the headache that was his third-wheel obligation for San and Yeosang...

“Darling, there’d be enough room on this couch for the both of us if you sat vertically instead of diagonally,” a lilting voice advised.

Mingi’s eyes snapped open and he scrambled to his feet. “Eomma!” he exclaimed. “You’re home so early..?”

“Don’t sound so sad about it!” Mingi got a pinch to his ear for his troubles.

“No, i’m glad,” he whined. “Do you want something to eat? I didn’t cook yet…”

“Already taken care of,” his mother pretended to shoot him with finger guns. Her hair was tied up in a bun with too-short strands making escape attempts, and a drama was playing on the TV behind her. Mingi wondered if she perhaps got fired for snapping and beating a coworker for forgetting paperwork or neglecting to respond to her emails or something - it was the only explanation for his overtime-addicted mother to be chilling at home on a Monday afternoon. When he voiced his concerns she wrinkled her nose at him. 

“Yah! I should hit you for that. How could such a cool mom get fired?” she complained. “...my floor in the office flooded because of some renovation stuff they were doing, but it’ll be fixed by tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Mingi deflated, hopes of his mom getting a longer break smushed.

“But!” she announced. “You’ll be happy to know that you don’t have anything to take care of around the house since I’ve got all this extra time on my hands. Go do whatever you teenagers like to do, whatever,” she flapped her hands.

“Eomma,” Mingi objected. “You don’t have to worry about that stuff-”

“ _Aish_ , my regular Cinderella, darling, go buy yourself a soda or something, I’ve got this covered.”

“Well, actually, in that case…” an idea struck him. “A friend invited me to his house today,” Mingi hedged. His mom’s eyes opened comically - and a little insultingly - wide. 

“ _Why are you gossipping with this old woman then?_ Go, go, have fun!” she blurted, hurrying Mingi up from the couch. “Wait. Is he coming here? Let me meet him. What are his intentions? Mingi, don’t let these rich sons of bitches -” Mingi choked. “-peer pressure you, you know what heroin is? Don’t do heroin, whose house is it? What’s his father’s name?”

“ _Eomma they’re kids from anime club._ ”

“...that worries me even _more_.”

\------------------------------------------------

Mingi slid, finally, into the black leather seats of Choi San’s obnoxiously red monstrosity of an automobile. His mom had held him up because she got embarassingly emotional over the prospect of Mingi making friends. He applauded himself on his foresight to text San to wait for him in the parking area because who _knows_ what fresh motherly hell she would’ve raised if he had come to fetch Mingi. San started the engine with swiftness as soon as Mingi was settled and peeled out of the apartment lot.

“I don’t know what’s louder, your hair or your paint job,” Mingi joked, clicking his seatbelt because he was a _good, law abiding boy_ thankyouverymuch. San had clearly done a touch-up on his roots - hair a vibrant emerald and less faded at his part.  
“Oh, god, I don’t want to look like a try-hard. Is it noticeable?”

“Only completely.”

San’s hands twitched on the steering wheel, as if he’d have reached over and flicked Mingi were they not otherwise occupied. About halfway through the ride, Mingi asked if he should bring up GPS on his phone and tap in the address Yeosang gave San - but it wasn’t necessary.

“Nah,” San waved him off. “From what I saw of the address he actually lives in the same neighborhood as Wooyoung! Their fathers know each other.” he raised his eyebrows meaningfully. Mingi stared blankly in return.

“...which means that Yeosangie parents are ridiculously wealthy and probably involved in the entertainment industry somehow?” San clarified, then blanched, reaching a sudden realization. “Oh, god. What if I meet them today?! What if they deem me too lowly to elope with their son?!”

Mingi sighed. “Sannie-hyung. If they think _you_ are too broke to be around Yeosang, they’ll probably shoot me for even _breathing_ near him-”

“ _SHHHHH_ they’ll hear you.” San whispered frantically, pulling up to the gate of a well-landscaped estate.

After getting buzzed in by their crackly-voiced classmate over the intercom, driving along a winding path and finally parking in the wide driveway of an honestly ridiculously-sized house, Mingi managed to shove San out of the car and up to the doorbell. 

Before they had a chance to ring it, however, Kang Yeosang himself wrenched the ornate door open. He had a ponytail tied at the top of his head, socked feet, and a face free of his typical makeup. Mingi wondered once again what kind of beauty-enhancing water SAEPA cafeteria served.

“I didn’t expect you this soon,” the boy explained awkwardly, waving them in. If Yeosang was flustered, San was doubly so, Mingi noticed - the greenette in question laughed, abruptly, then quickly stopped, licking his lips nervously. 

“We didn’t set an exact time so -”

“No, it’s fine! Uh...this is my house, so,” Yeosang did weak jazz-hands. Mingi wanted to die from secondhand embarrassment, even more so when Yeosang’s eyes landed on him. 

“Ah, Mingi-ssi,” the blonde greeted, looking even more nervous, if that was possible. Mingi hadn’t spoken a ton to the boy, but he seemed nice enough and would occasionally speak up in club meetings with funny quips or helpful advice. 

“Hey!” Mingi beamed at him. “So - what’s the plan for tonight?”

 

\----------------------------------

 

Yeosang’s house was ridiculously nice - neurotically clean, and decorated like something straight out of a catalogue. Weirdly enough, the space itself felt impersonal - like someone had tried very very hard to scrub all traces of character out of it. Mingi kept expecting to see perhaps a childhood drawing hung up, or someone’s stray coat over the back of a chair - but spotted no such thing. Yeosang led them on a brief tour before they settled in the blonde’s room - furniture and walls neutrally colored, with (thankfully) personal touches sprinkled throughout. Mingi had to bite his lip to keep from teasing the older boy about the idol posters hung up around the walls.

“My parents aren’t home,” Yeosang added, once he finished his mini tour, in a tone that sounded - to Mingi - a bit resigned. “And my brother is here, but he won’t bother you.”

After an initially awkward start, San, Mingi, and Yeosang fell back into familiar banter and watched - by San’s recommendation - horror movie that had come out recently. Mingi had been so stunned by the sheer size of Yeosang’s television that he completely forgot to protest.

“Her _arm_ ,” Mingi wailed halfway in,clutching his bowl of popcorn for dear life. “You guys are horrible, _worst hyungs ever_ -” San’s cackling and Yeosang’s muffled giggles drowned his protests out.

“I dunno what’s worse, the CGI or the acting quality,” San chuckled, alternating between laughing over the events conspiring onscreen, yelling at the stupid protagonist, and sneaking what he probably thought were sly glances at Yeosang throughout. “Mingi-ah, I didn’t know you were this weak-stomached,” he cooed, reaching over to pinch Mingi’s cheek.

Mingi batted his hand away irately, before huffily moving to sit besides Yeosang instead. Which...didn’t turn out to be altogether better, because right before the next jumpscare on the screen, Yeosang blew on his ear, resulting in Mingi reaching a screechy pitch he would’ve thought his voice incapable of. San and Yeosang burst into laughter once again. 

“I trusted you!” Mingi bemoaned his lack of foresight. Yeosang and San really were perfect for each other - they were both _evil_.

“Okay, okay,” Yeosang said, a little breathlessly. He shut the TV off. “Do you guys like MarioKart?”

At the affirmative, Yeosang started setting it up. Mingi fanned his face, still a little harried from the horror movie. “Ah, Yeosangie-hyung, where’s the kitchen again? I’d like to grab some water, but you guys can start without me.” San’s head whipped up to stare at him, facial expression like a deer caught in headlights. Mingi grinned back. Serves him right - besides, being alone with Yeosang might be the push he needs to actually make a move.

“Ah, two halls down and up the stairs is the closest one,” Yeosang threw over his shoulder absently, hooking up the controllers. Mingi saluted and slipped out of the room, trying not to dwell on the fact that Yeosang’s house had multiple kitchens, apparently. _Damn rich kids._

Mingi sipped from his glass slowly. After all, it couldn’t hurt to give the two guys some time to talk without him third-wheeling, right? His eyes drifted to the window over the stove, admiring the view of the rest of the estate. 

Because he was focused on that, he didn’t catch the dark blur of movement in the corner of his eye. It wasn’t until a loud clatter sounded alarm bells in his head that he noticed another presence in the kitchen with him. 

Mingi turned to face - Park Seonghwa. Standing regally despite the shocked expression on his face, in a black turtleneck and hand outstretched where he dropped the book he was holding. Mingi - despite having been invited - felt abruptly like he was trespassing.

“Why are you here?” While the words weren’t unfriendly, they weren’t dripping with warmth, either. Seonghwa was not happy to see him. Which was true to character - in their shared homeroom class, Seonghwa was nothing but glacial to him - even outright refusing to work with him when they were set for a partner project at one point. Mingi didn’t know what he did to piss him off - besides almost getting hit by his car that first day - and he wasn’t too keen on finding out.

“Ah, well, I was invited, you - oh. You must be Yeosangie’s brother, I didn’t even realize -”

“ _Step_ -brother.” Seonghwa’s face shifted into a much angrier expression, dark eyes sparking. He took several steps towards Mingi in quick succession, and Mingi, despite his meagre height advantage, automatically stumbled backwards, tailbone knocking unpleasantly against the countertop edge when there was nowhere left to move. His glass of water sat, abandoned, by the sink. 

“Listen, Seonghwa-ssi, I know we might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot but I really don’t have anything against you,” Mingi rushed out, frowning at the proximity between himself and the older boy. Seonghwa was so up in his space Mingi could practically trace with his eyeballs the gentle curve of his prominent cheekbones and probably count each individual hair on his defined, furrowed eyebrows. “I don’t want to fight or anyth-”

“Stay away from Kang Yeosang.” Seonghwa whispered, tone menacing and voice soft. Mingi held his breath as Seonghwa raised a clenched fist. There was nothing but venom in Seonghwa’s gaze - Mingi was pretty sure he was about to get his nose broken. _I really can’t afford a hospital bill right now,_ Mingi thought, semi-hysterically.

“Understand?” Seonghwa practically growled, knocking on Mingi’s chest with the back of his knuckles before withdrawing from the tall, panicky boy’s space. He turned sharply on his heel, retrieved his novel from where it had fallen earlier, and stormed from the kitchen.

Mingi wheezed out a long breath like a deflating balloon. _Holy shit._ Mingi ran a shaky hand through his hair, clutching the counter behind him with his other hand.  
What the hell kind of over-protective brother complex did Seonghwa have? Who just threatens guests up against admittedly-nice vintage granite countertops like that? Mingi snatched his water glass and downed the rest of it, heart beating even faster than it did coming down from watching that shitty B-horror movie.

As far as Mingi knew, Seonghwa had never threatened San or any of the others for getting chummy with his brother - _step-brother_ , sorry - or even treated them with animosity at all, really. In school, Seonghwa was cold and quiet, and didn’t particularly interact with anyone besides what was necessary. And of course the students loved him - he had top scores, and served as student body president his entire time as SAEPA - and, of course, he was devastatingly handsome; so while Mingi couldn’t recall any close friends of his, Seonghwa had no shortage of admirers and cling-ons. Nor did he seem to have any enemies or rivals. Which made Mingi’s head hurt even more - because why _him_ of all people?

It could be because he was a scholarship student. Maybe Seonghwa just didn’t want low-class trash like him associating with his dear brother. Mingi rubbed at his temples, before realizing he’d been gone for quite a bit. 

On his trek back to Yeosang’s room, Mingi was jumpy - eager to avoid confrontation with Seonghwa again. Eventually, he made it, and cracked open the door. The sight that met him was of Mario Kart being paused, San and Yeosang staring into each other’s eyes. San’s hand hovered over Yeosang’s left cheekbone, near his eye. 

Mingi’s jaw dropped, and he tried to hurry backwards but the creak of the door sent the two boys stumbling into action. 

“Mingi-ah, come in!”

“Uh - we paused the game for you!”

Smiling sheepishly, Mingi went to sit down.

“So, are you guys…” he began, pitching his voice low. Yeosang and San stared at him, alarmed by his tone, both probably aware of what he was going to ask next. “Y’know…”

Silence.

“-ready to lose?”

“Oh you are _so_ not funny Song Mingi-”

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

Mingi got home at around 10pm, and felt his mood lighten a bit when he noticed the lights were off and his mother had retired to bed and was getting sorely-needed rest.

Burrowing into his sheets, Mingi stared at his ceiling in hopes it’d reveal some answers for his troubles. Nothing. He turned over in bed, and fell into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo this chapter felt kinda long and plotty to me and im not completely satisfied with it but I hope you enjoyed nonetheless. some essential things had to happen this chapter in order to get to the fun of next chapter! please take a moment to tell me how you thought about it or leave a kudos :) any questions? theories? I hope you liked the little side-stories in this chapter and the bits of development for mingis relationships w hongjoong yunho and seonghwa <3 see you soon!
> 
> ps. now im not gonna say i predicted mingi being a total romantic and lover of cheesy kdrama last chapter but mingi confirmed on those character introduction sheets recently that his ideal type is kdrama actor nam joohyuk...#ao3user@mingis1stWin


	3. teen idle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of shit goes down in the latter half of this chapter ><  
> hope some dots begin to connect for you all!! ty for reading :)

Mingi’s fingers slipped at the lock, turning the dial _just_ a tad too much to the left. His eye twitched. Ignoring the muffled snort from the presence at his side, Mingi tried once more. No luck.

“Now this is just a suggestion,” Hongjoong finally piped up. “Just a thought! But. You have a very capable and very clever hyung at your disposal, and, hypothetically, if you were to ask him to come to your rescue and open your locker for you before you’re late to homeroom…”

“A capable and clever hyung?” Mingi stared blankly at Hongjoong. “Where is he.” the taller boy made a show of looking wildly up and down the hallway. Hongjoong hip-checked him for the disrespect.

Sparing a glance at the digital clock in the wall adjacent his locker, Mingi heaved a sigh and moved away from his locker.

“Hyung.”

“Say no more!” Hongjoong pressed his to-go cup of coffee into Mingi’s hands so he could take a crack at the evil, horrible, demonic, Mingi-phobic lock. Mingi recited his combo obediently in response to Hongjoong’s questioning eyebrow. Despite the boy’s dramatics, Mingi was glad for the help - mornings like this were nice, where him and Hongjoong biked to school together, but they didn’t happen everyday. At least ⅔ of the week Hongjoong slept in and ended up late to homeroom, and Mingi - an early riser and always conscious of what getting into trouble for tardiness could mean for his scholarship - left way earlier than him. Mingi looked down at the travel cup in his hand reeking of black coffee that he suspected had something to do with the pep in the blonde boy’s step.

Once Hongjoong had opened Mingi’s locker and spent approximately eight million years crowing victoriously, Mingi hurried to grab his tote bag of dance clothes and his math textbook. 

“Alright, now we have to book it, hyung, because your mom is _terrifying_ and I like my head seated firmly on my shoulders where it is, thank y-” Mingi whirled around with his necessities in his arms as he spoke to the older boy, failing to notice the student striding in his direction until it was too late. 

_Smack._ Hongjoong let out a belated warning right after the coffee that was initially in Mingi’s hand ended up all over his dance bag and textbook. Mingi stared at the mess in horror before lifting his eyes to the person who collided with him so strongly. 

Park Seonghwa met his gaze, wide eyes and a worried crease in his handsome brow a deviance from his typical resting bitch face. In a flash, however, his face smoothed out, and was replaced with an annoyed expression. Mingi gaped wordlessly at the dark-haired boy as he turned smoothly on his heel and continued down the hall without so much as a ‘sorry’.

“Thanks so much!” Mingi called, glaring down the hall long after Seonghwa had turned the corner. He flipped through the pages of his textbook in horror, the majority stained and a few ripped in places during the collision. He surveyed his dance bag and a good amount of coffee had managed to soak through his sweats and hoddie as well. His sneakers, residing at the bottom of the bag, were thankfully untouched, so he wouldn’t need to buy new ones. Mingi sighed deeply, thanking whoever was out there for small financial victories. Hongjoong rubbed the back of the taller boy’s neck comfortingly.

“I can’t pay to replace this textbook, fuck fuck fuck,” Mingi despaired. “This is probably, what, $400? A bill could be paid with that money, my mom is gonna be so stressed...I’ve gotta get a job,” he ran a hand through his hair several times, panicked. He barely had time to juggle all of his responsibilities as it was - keeping his grades up to maintain his scholarship, cooking and cleaning around the house, balancing his social obligations - a job would be hugely difficult to cram into his schedule, even if it was only part-time. Maybe a $400 fine wouldn’t be so bad for _Park Seonghwa_ , but to Mingi it might as well be a death sentence. He blew air through his nose angrily at the thought. His feelings were still smarting from the confrontation he’d had with the dark-haired boy during the visit to Yeosang’s house previously. “What’s that guy’s problem, anyway? He hates me for literally _no reason_ , I _breathed_ and he decided hey, let’s just make Mingi’s life miserable!” 

Hongjoong listened patiently, disposing of the discarded coffee cup and using some kleenex from his jacket pocket to wipe up the bit of mess on the floor as Mingi surveyed the damage to his belongings. 

“That’s really frustrating, and I know how you feel,” Hongjoong soothed, hiking his backpack up further on his shoulder. Mingi pouted, wanting the older boy to share in his righteous fury instead of being calm and practical. 

“He definitely doesn’t hate you, though.” Hongjoong said shortly, a deeply pensive look on his face. Before Mingi could turn a disbelieving stare on the blonde and question what the hell he meant, exactly, with that cryptic statement, Hongjoong waved and made a beeline for his homeroom class. Mingi could only deliberate over at the strangeness for a moment, because the warning bell rang shrilly in his ears and spurred him to action. 

Mingi arrived on time by the skin of his teeth.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mingi awkwardly crossed his arms in front of his chest, cheeks aflame. His fingers itched to adjust his clothes but he had already done so around 30 seconds ago and he didn’t want to do it again and look quite as massively uncomfortable as he felt. 

Because of the coffee-spillage fiasco of that morning, Mingi was forced to borrow clothes from the only friend he had in that class - Wooyoung. Mingi had tried asking guys in the class who were closer in size to him, and was met with short, clipped “no”s and flared nostrils, so he quickly gave up his pursuit. He got the impression they thought he was trying to steal their gaudy brand-name tracksuits. Yunho was nowhere in sight in the locker room, otherwise he even would have swallowed his pride and asked him. Wooyoung gleefully provided Mingi with his spare set of clothes - a pale pink T-shirt and and matching shorts. Mingi accepted them. Mingi also accepted the sweet release of death.

Typically, Mingi wore thick sweats and a hoodie for practice, both articles of clothing darkly colored and inconspicuous. Wooyoung had no such reservations with his dance outfits. But, well, the whole thing might not be so bad if Wooyoung was just…. _bigger_. As it was, the t-shirt he had provided clung closely to Mingi’s chest, waist and shoulders, and although the shorts might have been right above-the-knee for Wooyoung, on Mingi’s longer legs they only reached mid-thigh. 

Mingi felt deeply uncomfortable. As he and Wooyoung stood in their corner, Wooyoung chatting idly about his previous class, all Mingi could focus on was how embarrassed he felt. Even if he knew _logically_ the entire class wasn’t staring at him, it felt like it. Even if he knew _logically_ the small clique to their right wasn’t giggling incessantly about him and how ridiculous he must look, it felt like it. He felt towering and bulky and awkward and ugly and kind of wanted to cry. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Yunho come into the practice room and turn his late pass in to the instructor, and everything got abruptly worse. Mingi was really hoping the taller boy would be absent - Mingi hopes by some miracle Yunho doesn’t notice how completely stupid he looks.

Wooyoung must have seen his turmoil on his face - and wrongly assumed what the issue was. “Hyung,” Wooyoung said, grinning up at him in a clear attempt to cheer him up. “Don’t feel awkward! Ah, I can’t believe I’m saying it, but you actually look cute,” Wooyoung announced. “And you can’t really tell with what you usually wear, but these look really nice, too!” Wooyoung latched onto his friend, teasingly groping Mingi’s biceps and fondling his chest to Mingi’s discomfort.

Mingi struggled with the touchy younger boy valiantly, whisper shouting at him to cut it out as he teasingly prodded Mingi. He wouldn’t bother fending him off normally but today was just _not his day_ and he was already going through a mini crisis of self, and wanted to avoid making as much of a scene as possible.

A playful wolf-whistle rang through the air in the direction of the pair’s antics. Mingi looked up, stricken, at the perpetrator, a dark haired senior who insisted everyone call him by his English name Tommy waggling his eyebrows with his friends in Mingi and Wooyoung’s direction. Several more heads turned to look in their direction at the noise. 

“Go undress him somewhere else, Jung,” one of the observing wisecrackers called. 

“Mingi-ssi’s already halfway there, let them finish,” Tommy crowed in response. 

Mingi turned around, biting his lip so hard it hurt. He just wanted to _leave_ but he couldn’t and that would only draw more attention to himself, anyway. Wooyoung, face red for an entirely different reason than Mingi’s, started to storm forward menacingly but Mingi shook his head, looking at him pleadingly. Wooyoung grudging didn’t engage with Tommy or his crowd, grumbling angrily under his breath. 

Maybe it was just him, but Mingi thought the practice room quieted down considerably, and he turned around expecting to see the instructor ready to begin class. 

No such luck. Mingi’s eyes widened at the sight of Jeong Yunho making a beeline for him. Mingi backed away a bit but Yunho was undeterred. With several of their classmates watching the encounter, along with a gaping Wooyoung by Mingi’s side, Yunho roughly yanked his blue hoodie over his head and pressed it to Mingi’s chest, coming to a full stop in front of the boy.

Yunho’s eyes were intense. He wasn’t smiling, and his typically friendly face was uncharacteristically serious. Somehow, it made him seem taller - intimidating. Mingi didn’t move to accept the hoodie at first, so bewildered by the chain of events, and Yunho pushed it at him more insistently. Mingi broke eye contact to frantically survey the faces of his classmates. A good portion of them were eagerly drinking in the scene - bored teenagers hungry for drama. 

His self conscious searching was cut short, and Mingi’s vision was filled with blue fabric. It took him a second to realize Yunho had taken matters into his own hands and was pushing the hoodie over his shoulders, preventing Mingi from working himself into further anxiousness.

“Hyung,” he tried to protest, but Yunho was undeterred. Mingi resigned himself to wearing the hoodie and obediently pushed his arms through the sleeves. 

Yunho stepped back and surveyed Mingi’s outfit, face unreadable. The hem of the sweater went almost down to Mingi’s shorts, and the sleeves stopped halfway down Mingi’s palms as a result of the height Yunho had over Mingi. The clothing was still warm with Yunho’s body heat. Secretly, Mingi felt a little relieved to have the extra article of clothing, but he could have done without the dramatics. He felt a rush of gratitude towards Yunho and for a moment forgot about the students watching like vultures. 

“Thank you, hyung.” Mingi whispered, immediately burying his hands in the kangaroo pocket of the slightly overlarge hoodie.

Yunho didn’t respond, just nodded in a jerky fashion and turned around. The students watching snapped their hands down and pretended they hadn’t been. Mingi marvelled at the effect Yunho had as the brunette strolled back to his spot, cool as a cucumber.

The instructor up and started class shortly after. Wooyoung faced Mingi with an expression that clearly said he couldn’t believe what had just transpired and that he’d be having Words with Mingi later. Mingi resigned himself to his fate.

Yunho was so _confusing_. If he kept doing nice things for Mingi so carelessly Mingi wasn’t sure if his poor heart could take it. Mingi worried at his lip before shaking his head, banishing silly pipe-dream romantic thoughts and getting ready to focus on the lesson. 

But if he glanced around before taking a surreptitious sniff at the collar of the hoodie, and smiled to himself because _Yunho smells like cinnamon,_ nobody had to know.

\------------------------------------------------ 

The night of Yunho’s party arrived faster than Mingi expected. After getting home from school Friday, Mingi shucked off his shoes and padded to the kitchen in search of a snack to calm his nerves. He had several hours till it started, but he was still nervous, and would likely be up until he left.

Spying a blue post it note on the fridge, Mingi peeled it off and grabbed a bag of honey butter chips from the cupboard, munching as he examined the messy scrawl.

_something came for you! check your bed xoxo p.s. coming home late sry darling <3 _

Mingi raced to his room and threw himself onto his covers with a _whump_. He eagerly tore open the waiting envelope, decorated in sports stickers and woodland animals. 

Maybe it was old-fashioned to keep writing each other by snailmail, but something about having physical copies of his and his penpal’s correspondence was more meaningful, more sentimental. Maybe Mingi was just a romantic. But regardless of the reason they never switched to just texting each other, though undoubtedly they both had phones. Mingi didn’t mind. Something about the waiting period to get a letter back was kind of nice - it wasn’t a stressful obligation to respond within a few minutes like you would with an email or a text, and in his opinion waiting made you anticipate and appreciate the letter even more.

Mingi settled down to read, a content smile on his face.

\--------------------------------------

A frantic knocking at Mingi’s door some hours later startled him, almost causing him to drop his wooden spoon into the sauce on the stove. Putting the utensil down and wiping his hands on his admittedly-garish apron, he went to open the door, surprised at his mom coming home earlier than she had planned.

“Eom-” As soon as he opened the door, three teenage boys hustled in past the entryway and into his living room. Mingi stumbled back in surprise.

“What the fu-”

“Mingi-ah! I’m so glad I remembered the address from last time! Also there were some pretty shady guys in the parking lot going through your dumpster, just wanted to let you know-”

“Those were the garbagemen, hyung, are you st-”

“I mean that’s kind of a rude thing to say, we don’t _personally_ know how garbage of people they are-”

“Mmm, this is actually pretty good, hyung,” Mingi whipped his head away from Wooyoung - who had dyed his hair silver? And San’s was black and red? When the hell did this happen between the time school got out and now? - and San’s bickering to see Jongho, finger in his mouth and hovering over Mingi’s pot on the stove. 

“”Wah, Mingi-ah, is this your mom? She’s pretty-”

“Look, this one has hyung as baby~”

Mingi whirled around to where San and Wooyoung had moved onto inspecting the picture frames on the wall.

“WHY ARE YOU ALL HERE?” Mingi shouted to get their attention. All of a sudden, Mingi sympathized deeply with preschool teachers.

It was silent for a moment, before the three sprung into action, retrieving the bags they dropped by the door upon entry. 

“We decided to get ready at your house because we just got back from shopping and its the closest from the commercial district.”

“Because we love you!”

“Why are _any_ of us here?” 

Came Jongho, Wooyoung, and San’s (oddly existential) respective answers. 

Mingi scrunched his nose. “But we have 2 more hours?”

The three musketeers exchanged a look. Jongho broke the news. “Hyung, it’s 9:15 and the party starts at 10.”

Mingi squawked, turning around and stripping his apron, flicking the stove off and lidding the pot. “It was 7pm last time I checked!” He went about wiping down the cutting board and depositing it in the sink. When he turned around, the boys were gone.

Mingi made a dash for his room and the attached bathroom, and saw that they had already spread out various cosmetics on the counter and Wooyoung was pantsless. They worked fast.

Resigning himself to his fate, Mingi began searching through his closet before it occurred to him that he didn’t even know what party appropriate clothes _entailed_. Looking at his daily wardrobe - which consisted of primarily jeans and sweaters - he got the sense that something was lacking. 

Wooyoung came up and shoved a lumpy plastic bag into Mingi’s arms. 

“Hyung,” he said, seriously. “I felt really bad about making you uncomfortable the other day in dance and how Tommy and those assholes responded so-” he rushed, then did a frenetic jazz hands. “I got you some clothes while we were shopping and they’re not _super_ your style but I think they’d look really nice on you!”

Mingi was genuinely touched that Wooyoung remembered and felt guilty enough to go out of his way like that. He smiled softly the ruffled Wooyoung’s hair. “Thank you so much, Wooyoung-ah,” Mingi said fondly. “But I wasn’t mad at you or anything and - you should only buy me things on special occasions!” he scolded, taking the clothes gratefully regardless. He might just be sensitive about it, but it always felt like Wooyoung and the other two spent a little too freely when it came to him - a notable example being Jongho once ‘coincidentally’ buying out of the rest of the canteen’s pudding supply at lunch after Mingi had offhandedly mentioned he liked them but forgot his wallet and Jongho later making Mingi take them all off his hands because he ‘wasn’t hungry anymore’. The intention was good, but Mingi didn’t want them to treat him like a charity case.

“Talk less, dress more!” San popped up, shoving a pair of - was that _leather_ \- pants into Wooyoung’s face. San was already dressed and looking devastatingly handsome in a wine-red turtleneck and sharp eyeliner. Mingi must have stared at it wondrously for a second too long, because San perked up.

“Let me do yours.”

“Do my what, exactly..?”

“Your eyeliner! Mingimingimingimingimingi-ah PLEASE you have such pretty eyes, and you should let me put eyeliner on them.” San wheedled, clasping his hands. The taller boy raised an eyebrow disbelievingly - he couldn’t count the number of times he got made fun of as a kid for having ugly, narrow eyes, and when he expressed this thought to San the older boy looked personally offended.

“Your eyes are _elegant_ , ex-fucking-scuse me, whose ass do I need to be-”

Mingi tuned him out, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck self-consciously. “You promise it won’t look silly?” He asked, cautiously.

“I _swear._ ”

\-------------------------------------

At 10:35pm they were all finished getting ready. Mingi noticed with some humor that the other three had definitely shopped with a theme in mind.

“What is this? Dark concept?” He said wonderingly, staring at the four faces reflected in his cramped bathroom mirror. 

“ _Sexy_ concept,” Wooyoung corrected. Jongho immediately started making fun of him for how often he used the word ‘sexy’ on a daily basis. 

Mingi tugged a bit at the choker he was wearing - a simple black collar-type-thing? with a silver ring attached. San had done his eyeliner and applied a gloss to his lips but otherwise left his face alone, but Mingi would grudgingly admit he did a good job. Mingi actually looked...striking. Mingi slapped his own face lightly, embarrassed for even thinking that about himself. He was wearing a leather jacket over a grey, stylishly distressed shirt with an obscure band that he didn’t listen to on it, and clinging blue plaid pants. It was...stylish.

His friends were similarly preening - except for Jongho, who wasn’t even bothering to hide his wandering eyes towards Wooyoung. Mingi bit his cheek to avoid laughing. Idiots in love.

Sooner rather than later they’re pulling up to Yunho’s sprawling behemoth of a house. His first impression of it is that _nobody_ needs that much space. Mingi is starting to think that perhaps the French made some points back in 1790.

The inside of the house was already congested with students - solo cups aplenty and the air a bit hazy with what was probably not cigarette smoke. Mingi could feel the bass of the music settling thick and syrupy in his bones. Several of the light fixtures in the main room seemed to have been re-outfitted with red bulbs; casting a dreamy, warm glow across the room. San branched off almost immediately upon entry with a jaunty wave and a promise to catch up later - he had heard through the grapevine Yeosang was attending and set out to look for him. Wooyoung, to Jongho’s distress, was immediately snagged by a group of friendly girls from his homeroom to gossip with.

“Do we just walk around then?” Mingi leaned down to whisper-shout at Jongho. The shorter boy shrugged and tugged him along into the next room. Mingi twisted his hands around the yellow umbrella nervously - he hadn’t seen Yunho yet, and that was the whole reason he came. To return Yunho’s umbrella, of course. That was the reason. Not to see Yunho. 

They stayed there for a while, amusing themselves with the inhabitants of what had been converted into a karaoke room - Mingi recognized several of his Rap Performance focus classmates standing up on a makeshift stage and crooning deliberate off-key to an unimpressed Vocal Performance gaggle below. At one point, Yunho passed through the room, but even when Mingi called his name, all Yunho did was spare him a glance and continue walking with the guy by his side. Mingi deflated, but shook it off, focusing instead on karaoke.

Mingi spent around 10 minutes hyping Jongho to go up and show off, and when he did Mingi exhausted his vocal chords further cheering for him and pretending to sigh and swoon over the boy’s angelic voice. Jongho, ever the unflappable one, only smiled slightly into the mic at Mingi’s antics, but Mingi still felt accomplished. Something about the atmosphere was really nice - of course, the house was loud and everyone was starting to get drunk and ridiculous, but at the same time Mingi didn’t feel nearly as judged by his classmates as was typical. A duo of boys from rap even cajoled him into going up and doing a song with them.

After a while, Mingi retired to the couch, peering around and wondering where the hell Jongho got off to. His field of vision was obscured by a blonde, wavy-haired girl slumping down into the seat next to him.

“Uh...are you alright?” he asked tentatively. Her arm was thrown over her face, and when she moved it to peer at him Mingi saw she had a heart drawn under her eye. Or maybe it was a tattoo. You never knew with SAEPA students.

“You know what, i’m really not.” The girl declared after a moment, snatching a hairtie off of her wrist and using it to throw her hair up messily. “I need a fucking drink. Come with me?” Before Mingi could formulate an answer or even ask her name, she took his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and pulled him up and into the kitchen. She moved around the house like she knew where she was going. In the kitchen was alcohol of all different kinds - Mingi couldn’t name them if he tried. The girl grabbed a cup for herself and passed one to Mingi, popping the cap of a bottle of _something_ and filling her cup. When she turned to Mingi, he was quick to put a hand over his cup. 

“Uh, i’m good. Do you know if they have soda or something?” He tried to smile through a grimace at the strong smell of liquor. The girl narrowed her eyes before going over to grab a coke from a cooler. Mingi accepted it gratefully, holding his drink in one hand and the umbrella in the other. 

“That’s cute,” the girl drawled, nodding to it before taking a swig from her cup. Mingi smiled. 

“Ah, it’s a friend’s, i’m just supposed to return it to him tonight,” he explained.

“Huh. I just figured it was a conversation piece.” She laughed loudly, abruptly. Then she teared up. “Yellow is that asshole’s favorite color.” The girl’s lip wobbled. Mingi panicked. He hated it when people cried in front of him, always felt helpless and useless. 

“Hey, hey, no,” He stuttered, patting her shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting way. She still looked on the verge of tears. “What happened? Are you alright? You can rant, if you want,” he offered.

She side-eyed him. “How do I know you’re not a snitch. Bitch.” She hiccuped a laugh.

Mingi eyed her, deciding she was probably drunker than she initially appeared. 

“I mean, I know like 6 people at this school, so. I probably don’t even know whoever it is you’re talking about.” 

She raised a hand quickly and Mingi flinched, before realizing she was just pointing at him dramatically. “You’re the fuckin’, the fuckinnn,” she squinted. “You’re Mr. Lee’s lovechild.” Mingi raised an eyebrow, realizing she was referring to the older gentlemen who worked for admissions at SAEPA that initially urged him to try out for the scholarship. “No. Your dad is a gang boss who demanded you get entry to the school. No! You-”

Mingi cut her off before she could make any other wild guesses about how he managed to get into the school. “I literally just won the scholarship. It’s on the school’s website and everything. I think I’ve been called ‘scholarship student’ at this school more often than my own name. This is common knowledge!”

“Yeah, but that’s the boring answer.” she yawned. “Anyways! Men are fucking dogs!” She looked to him for confirmation. Mingi nodded obligingly.

“This is known.”

“So, there’s, this guy, okay. And I thought we really had a connection, kind of, like he’s cute, i’m cute, he’s talented, i’m talented, we’re basically perfect together,” she begins, taking sips intermittently. “We start talking, and all that. Nothing official. It’s casual. Flirtationship. But every time I think, woah, wait, he’s going to make a move, finally, he’s gonna confess his, his, undying fuckin’ _love_ ,” she seethes. “He switches up! He’s so fuckin’ _moody_. So I come here, to this stupid-ass party, and he ignores me the entire time. I got all fuckin’ sexy and for _what!_ ” she slammed her cup on the counter. Mingi would be wary of the people around them listening in but everyone is drunk and too consumed in themselves or whoever they’re with to pay them any mind.

Mingi hums sympathetically. “That’s kind of the worst. And this has been going on for a while?”

“Yup.” She smacked her lips, eying the rest of the assorted alcohol sitting on the kitchen island. 

“This probably isn’t helpful, but I’d give up on him,” Mingi supplies, chewing his lip. “It sounds like he really stresses you out.”

“I wish it were that easy,” she whines, swaying forward. Mingi steadies her by the shoulders. “Y’know how some people are jus’....magnetic? Like, they’re the type of person where, like, even if you wanna give up on them, wanna ignore them, they’re too, fuckin’... _captivating_.”

Mingi felt an unwanted pang of familiarity. Yeah, he knew all about that. 

“There’s a guy I like,” Mingi said, suddenly, and whooshed a sigh because holy _shit_ he said it out loud. “He’s like that. But he’s so - agh!”

“Agh!” The girl threw her hands out, and Mingi copied the motion, laughing despite himself.

“Yeah! He’s just...he’s really pretty. And he always just - shows up when I need help, with his stupid handsome face, and he’s always teasing me but it’s never _mean,_ actually, he is kinda mean, but I kinda like it?” Mingi rambled. “And his smile, gosh, his smile is amazing, and I. I really like him, I think,” he finishes, splaying his hands a bit helplessly. 

“So, then? Go get your man!” The girl exclaims.

“But he’s,” Mingi thinks back to her earlier word choice. “...moody. I’m around 80% sure that it’s just fun for him to mess with me.” Mingi slumps. “Like, new hobby! See how hard you can fuck with the poor little scholarship student’s feelings! It’s kind of tragic. I have the stupidest crush ever on a guy who doesn’t even deign to acknowledge my _existence_ half the time!” He feels the urge to throw the stupid umbrella in his hand into the trash or something equally dramatic to release all the frustration he’s finally allowed to flow freely, but wisely decides against it. 

“Oh, babe,” the blonde frowns, big and sad, eyes shiny. Mingi panics. 

“If you cry I’m going to cry too and I don’t think my eyeliner is waterproof, so, uh. Don’t please.”

The girl sniffles loudly, and seems to come to a resolution. “What’s your name again?”

Mingi declines to mention they never exchanged names in the first place. “Ah, Song Mingi.”

“Well, Song Mingi-ah, you’re an underclassmen, huh? You can call me Jiyeon. And we’re gonna go fuckin’ dance instead of crying alone in a kitchen!” Jiyeon declared. Mingi hesitated, then nodded his head determinedly. Why not! He came to have a fun time and experience a highschool party - and see Yunho but _whatever_ \- and that’s what he damn well would do.

\------------------------------------

At some point during the time Mingi spent dancing with Jiyeon in the middle of a humid swarm of SAEPA students his social standing shot way up temporarily. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was with Jiyeon, who was pretty and an amazing dancer and - as he discovered - wildly popular, or because his fellow student’s inhibitions were just completely gone; the latter would explain why Mingi never founding himself lacking a dance partner. There were always either strong hands on his hips or soft ones around his neck and the heavy beat of the music in his ears. And he was actually having fun. When he was dancing he felt a trillion times lighter, more confident - he knew he was good at moving, at controlling his facial expressions and impressing a crowd and that’s exactly what he did. Mingi felt high on life.

At some point in during all the sweat and touchiness and giggling Mingi lost his jacket and his umbrella, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Eventually, however, he heard a familiar high-pitched cackling and detached himself from the couple he was dancing between, following the source with a “bye, Jiyeon-noona!” tossed over his shoulder to wherever she was in the circle. He search led him to the next room, a tad quieter with several kids chilling on a couch and around 15 sitting in a circle on the floor. 

Wooyoung’s hand shot up and he beckoned him over. Mingi felt some pride at having accurately identified his close friend’s witch-cackle, and ambled over, feeling a bit dizzy despite not having drunk anything. He could feel a flush high on his cheekbones from the exertion of all the dancing he did.

“Hey, everyone,” he breathed, grinning dopily when he spotted Jongho in the circle as well - looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there - and losing the grin when he realized Yunho was two people away from the boy. Mingi averted his eyes and caught a flash of dirty blonde -

“Mingi-ah!” Hongjoong, of all people, exclaimed, waving to him from directly across the circle and winking when he caught Mingi’s attention. Mingi broke out in a huge smile, eyes crinkling. The older boy’s eyes were heavy lidded, and his hair was mussed in the front. He had a red beanie pulled lazily over his head, mullet peeking out around his nape. 

“Hyung! I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“I’m more surprised to see you here,” Hongjoong laughed. “Why did-”

“Back to the game,” Yunho interrupted, inspecting his nails with boredom evident on his features. “Mingi-ssi, you shouldn’t just interrupt like that. We’re in the middle of something.”

Mingi’s smile melted off of his face as the formal address, and he made to get up, awkwardly murmuring an apology. Wooyoung halted him with a hand on his arm.

“Mingi should play with us,” Wooyoung said, a twinkle in his eye. And Mingi - naive and trusting of his friend, shrugged and agreed.

He quickly realized this wasn’t the sort of game he was expecting at all. Each person had a shot glass in front of them, and when it was their turn they span the full bottle in the middle of the circle. They could decide to either kiss the person it landed on, or take the shot. If they decided to kiss, but the person it landed on chickened out, that person had to take two shots. Mingi sat frozen in his seat as this was explained to him.

The first few spins were fine - Mingi averted his eyes when a particularly enthusiastic couple decided to kiss rather than drink, and started planning on how to quietly escape as everyone in the circle broke out in cat calls and teasing. When Jongho’s spin landed on Yunho and he threw back a shot faster than anyone could even ask him his choice the circle collapsed with laughter. Mingi could admit it was a little funny. 

Less funny was when a girl Mingi recognized from his homeroom’s spin landed on him, and she shrugged and moved towards him. Mingi’s eyes squeezed tight, bracing for impact, but she thankfully just planted a wet, smacking kiss on his cheek and returned to her spot. The circle booed, including Wooyoung - who Mingi jabbed mercilessly with his elbow for doing so, and the girl finally acquiesced to their demands and took half a shot for technically breaking a rule.

Mingi had had his first kiss before - fumbling and awkward, in middle school with the first - and only, technically - boy who had ever liked him. He was invited to the basketball court afterschool one day - which was odd in and of itself, because he was never good at sports - and a boy in the grade above him had stuttered out a confession to a shocked Mingi, pecked him on the lips, and fled. The boy moved schools the following week, which was apparently why he had gotten up the courage to confess anyway. Mingi had realized a lot of things about himself the following year. But the point was, Mingi didn’t have any hangups about his first kiss. Despite this, he still felt like a kiss was something special - and didn’t particularly want to share one with any of the students in the circle. Well. Most. Nor did he want to get black-out drunk from refusing to participate. He was at a loss.

When it was Mingi’s turn to spin, he did so with apprehension. The bottle slid to a stop, pointing clear and straight towards - Wooyoung. Mingi weighed his options. On one hand, Wooyoung was his friend, and Mingi felt infinitely more comfortable if it was him than a stranger or - God forbid - Yunho. But he would also kind of like to avoid getting punched in the throat by a one Choi Jongho.

Wooyoung, taking his hesitance as a decision, knee-walked over to Mingi, obviously a bit tipsy, but true to shameless fashion, made quick work of cupping Mingi’s jaw and latching their mouths together. Mingi squeaked, audibly if the responding hollers from the group were anything to go by. Wooyoung pulled back shortly after, ran a thumb over Mingi’s slick bottom lip, and declared him “ _Cute!_ ” before swaying back to his spot unsteadily.

Mingi widens his eyes helplessly at Jongho, who is staring daggers at him from the other side of the circle. 

The game goes on for a bit, with a vocal performance focus guy Mingi has seen in the halls before vehemently rejecting kissing Mingi and downing a shot, which Mingi is - a little insulted by? But mostly relieved. Mingi’s next spin lands on a shy girl who he sighs and prepares himself to kiss but she takes two shots before he even moves towards her. Mingi watches Yunho kiss the girl next to him, sweetly, tenderly, when it’s his turn, and feels his stomach turn. A few more spins go by before his favorite mullet-haired hyung takes a crack at the bottle, flicking his wrist deftly.

Hongjoong’s spin lands on Mingi.

Mingi looks up in surprise - Hongjoong already has his eyes on him. The older boy tilts his head. 

“I’ll kiss you,” Hongjoong say easily, raising an eyebrow at Mingi as if waiting for an objection. Mingi’s face burns, and he shrugs jerkily. Kissing Wooyoung is one thing - Wooyoung is like a little brother to him, a bizarrely clingy and affectionate little brother but one none-the-less - and he had a thing going on with Jongho anyway. But Hongjoong and his’ relationship was - he didn’t want to say _shakier_ , less easily defined, but they just didn’t mess around like he and Wooyoung did. Their friendship was a more fragile thing, and Mingi was cautious of ruining that by making it...well, weird. Friends didn’t just kiss friends. At least, friends like Hongjoong and Mingi didn’t.

Hongjoong seemed to have no such reservation - just beckoned him forward with a nod of the head. Mingi scooted to a stop in front of him, nervously licking his lips. Hongjoong’s eyes zeroed in on the movement. Mingi felt… _weird._ Hongjoong must have been really drunk. 

“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” Wooyoung whoops gaily. 

Hongjoong obliges, sliding one hand to the back of Mingi’s neck and bracing the other on his shoulder. Mingi puckered his lips slightly, eyes closed shut, when Hongjoong took forever to just _get it over with_. Right when Mingi was about to crack an eye open to check if Hongjoong is just sitting back and laughing at his ridiculous face - warm lips press softly to his own. Mingi can hear the ‘oooh’ing of the people around him, but it seems oddly far away, almost underwater. All he can focus on are the fingers curling into his hair and the gentle movement against his mouth.

Hongjoong licked at the seam of Mingi’s lips, and his mouth went slack in surprise - Hongjoong took the opportunity to explore, kiss becoming wetter as it evolved. Mingi could taste the liquor on Hongjoong’s tongue, sweet and sharp. Mingi peeked at Hongjoong through his lashes, wondering just how drunk he was, exactly, but found the older boy’s eyes open and clear, staring - staring at something past Mingi’s head. Hongjoong must have noticed his eyes open because his eyes darted back to lock with Mingi’s. Mingi closed them again quickly, left with the feeling he was caught seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Hongjoong broke the kiss, slowly, lazily; delivering a final teasing bite to Mingi’s bottom lip before pulling away completely. Mingi is embarrassed to admit he followed Hongjoong’s lips for a second, leaning forward as the other boy pulled back before he realized what he was doing and reoriented himself. Hongjoong huffed quietly in amusement, before his eyes drifted to that space past Mingi’s head for a minute, eyes sparking - challengingly? Mingi thought to look at what was behind him, but his classmates erupted in cheering and faux-scandalized gasps, distracting him.

“Mingi-hyung you _floozy_ -” Wooyoung crowed.

“Jesus Christ, you guys were enthusiastic -” The grossed-out dude from earlier.

“Are you two together?” the girl who kissed his cheek.

“Hyung. I really could have lived without seeing that.” Jongho, voice deadpan.

“That was kind of hot -” Another girl in the circle.

“Wahh, Joong-ah, seducing the youth as always,” One of the seniors.

“Can we get back to the game?” Yunho’s voice cut through the noise. Mingi’s face burned with embarrassment, and he felt so - confused. Hongjoong was unreadable, Yunho was staring at him with an intense, borderline annoyed look, and his classmates were still teasing him. Mingi wanted out. 

“I’m gonna - I’m.” Mingi rushed to his feet and nodded, nonsensically, before turning tail and fleeing. He pushes past a dark-haired guy as he goes, not registering what he looked like. On his way out of the room, he sees his jacket and the yellow umbrella sprawled next to a lamp, and swipes them before continuing to the kitchen. Faintly, he can hear Hongjoong arguing with someone in the room he vacated. Mingi makes it to the kitchen. His heart feels like it’s going to pound out of his chest. Mingi braces one hand on the counter and clutches at his shirt on the left side of his chest with the other, willing it to calm down. Desperate, Mingi spots an abandoned glass, and fills it with a clear, fruity smelling liquid. Mingi doesn’t drink - he’s a _good kid,_ he knows it would disappoint his mom and alcohol has never seemed appealing anyway. But tonight, he drinks the whole glass anyway, gasping through the strong smell and taste. It only takes a bit before he feels loose-limbed and considerably calmer - and tired. He stumbles into the upstairs of the house, and into the first room on the left.

Luckily, the room is vacant. The walls are a pale yellow, with a desk on one side of the room with a lamp, several books, and a bunch of stationary. There’s a trophy case near the window, and Mingi registers faintly that it must be Yunho’s room, if this is Yunho’s house, and those are Yunho’s soccer trophies. Feeling vindictive, Mingo goes and falls into the bed, letting an short-lived scream into the pillow. 

He repositions so he’s facing the door, head hanging off the bed. He throws an arm over his eyes. He doesn’t know why Hongjoong kissed him for so long. Wooyoung didn’t do that. Why did Hongjoong? He doesn’t know why he went along with it. He wonders if Hongjoong hates him, now. For making it weird. He wonders if Yunho hates him more. 

Mingi tosses the yellow umbrella near the nightstand. He lays there, in the bed of a boy who can’t make up his mind on whether or not Mingi deserves basic respect, hiding from a friendship he potentially made awkward and stilted. When is anything in Mingi’s life _not_ awkward and stilted.

After a while, Mingi hears the doorknob turning. He pays it no mind, arm still firmly planted over his eyes, because he’s pretty sure the door is locked. Turns out, it wasn’t.

Mingi uncovers his eyes and squints at the newcomer. He sees none other than Kim Hongjoong, approaching him cautiously. The blonde boy is upside-down. Mingi tells him as much.

“Am I?” Hongjong huffs a laugh, settling on the ground at the foot of the bed. Mingi realizes how dark it is in the room. The only light is from the two lamps in the room.

Mingi slides off of the bed so he can sit next to Hongjoong on the ground. He squints at the other boy, weighing what he should say. Hongjoong beats him to it.

“Sorry if I was kinda forward out there,” Hongjoong says, tone deliberately casual and eyes on the wall. “‘M kinda drunk, and you know how competitive I am.”

Mingi nods obediently. “You’re _stupid_ competitive, hyung.” Hongjoong snorts at his confirmation.

They sit in silence for a moment, listening to the faint echoes of the song playing on the first floor. “This song is ass.” Hongjoong says.

“Yeah, it is,” Mingi agrees, crossing his eyes in front of him because holy shit, he can see his nose. Hongjoong watches him amusedly.

“I love music,” Mingi sighs dreamily. “Not this music. But in general.”

“I would hope so. You go to SAEPA.”

“Yeah, I do.” Mingi informs him. “I’m a rap performance and composition and dance performance focus,” Mingi recited. “I love hip hop. I love rapping. You wanna know a secret?” Mingi rolls his head to stare at Hongjoong, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. 

Hongjoong’s eyes meet his. “What’s the secret?” he asks, quietly.

“My dad loves that kind of thing, too.” Mingi says, with finality. He goes back to staring up at the ceiling.

Hongjoong stares at the younger boy, neck arched and head thrown back against the bedframe. His silvery-blue mane of hair fans around his head like a halo. His adam’s apple is prominent. Mingi’s expression is peaceful, and his lips are still a little swollen and red from earlier. _I did that,_ an ugly, self-satisfied little voice in Hongjoong’s head says. He ignores it.

“I thought your dad, well,” Hongjoong struggled with wording. “-left?”

Mingi hums, softly. “When I was a kid we’d listen to all his favorite American artists together. He was a total hip-hop head. I think if he hadn’t met my mom he’d have pursued a career in rap, in music, y’know?”

Hongjoong nodded, even though Mingi couldn’t see it. 

“Then he left. But I kept listening to it. That’s maybe why I love music so much.” Mingi paused, brow softly furrowing. “Maybe that’s why I’m so stubborn about pursuing this.”

“To live your dad’s dream? Because...he didn’t get to?”

“No. It’s more like...” Mingi is silent for a moment, and Hongjoong wonders if he’s fallen asleep. He’s startled when the boy resumes speaking. 

“Music makes me so happy, hyung. But. I dunno. Maybe a part of me is hoping that, that if I do this - if I become successful, and, I’m a big name, and I make music and I rap and I dance and I’m _successful_ -......It’s stupid. I just - I want _everyone_ to listen to my music. ‘Cause….’cause then, maybe, wherever my dad is, Korea, or America, or, or China or _Japan_ -” Mingi exhales. “He loves hip-hop. Maybe if he heard me on the radio, or on TV or, something, y’know, he’d think, wow, wait, that’s my son. That’s Mingi. That’s Song Mingi.”

“And maybe he’d be proud of me.” Hongjoong hears Mingi’s breath catch in his throat. “What if he was proud of me? Maybe he’d decide that...that I’m a son worth having. He loves music, y’know. He loves hip-hop. He would hear me. Wherever he was, if I work hard. I just have to work hard. So, yeah. Sometimes I think about that.” Mingi finished with a whisper. 

Hongjoong’s heart clenches. He doesn’t know what to say. He thinks, not for the first time, that Mingi is deeply sad in a way that people seldom notice. Mingi carries his burdens unassumingly; he drowns politely. Hongjoong puts a comforting hand on Mingi’s knee. “Thank you for telling me that,” he says, equally quietly, for lack of a better response. Mingi’s head lolls back up to smile blearily at him. He’s drunk. He’s a complete lightweight.

“I tell you everything, Joongie,” Mingi yawns. “Not usually here though.” Hongjoong chuckles. 

“No, look, see. It’s almost the same.” Hongjoong nudges Mingi and points up. Stuck to the ceiling are those cheap, glow-in-the-dark plastic stars you you buy for a couple bucks at the store. It’s not quite like their late nights on the fire escape, but it’s close enough. Mingi gapes up at the fake stars like he’s observing a great work of classical art.

He turns to beam at Hongjoong. The older boy is no match for the full force of Song Mingi’s smile. He’s not sure anyone is. 

“I love those things,” Mingi confides, like it’s a secret. Hongjoong gazes at him with unadulterated fondness. Hongjoong knows he possesses plenty of positive attributes - but he can admit, impulse control is not one of them. _I am a weak, weak man,_ he thinks, turning to Mingi, sweet, dorky, kind, _beautiful_ Mingi who looks up to him - and leans close with full intent to steal one last kiss from him before the night’s end.

Mingi blinks as Hongjoong moves closer swiftly, the jangling at his ears catching his attention. Mingi puts a hand up in front of his face, reaching past him to tug at one of Hongjoong’s numerous and many ear piercings. Hongjoong stops in his tracks - goes very still.

“Hyung,” he marvelled, “how many earrings do you have on just this side? Like - just this side, you know?” Mingi makes a motion like he’s sectioning half of Hongjoong’s face off, then waits intently for the answer. 

Hongjoong breathes a laugh. He shakes his head a bit, runs a hand through his bangs - and slowly rises to his feet. He helps Mingi up as well, the younger unsteady on his feet. 

“Let’s get you home, Song Mingi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew that was a lot. sorry again there wasn't a ton of seonghwa/mingi relationship development, but everything comes in due time!! theres a tiny bit of a peek into some hongjoong perspective in that last bit that I hope you all appreciated. just a blanket warning for this fic though - neither seonghwa yunho or hongjoong are exactly what they seem. be open to different interpretations~  
> hopefully I can get the next chapter of this up within the next two days. as always, thank you all for supporting, and please leave a kudos or a comment telling me how you're feeling so far/how you liked this chapter!


	4. my heart's like a rubber band

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! without further ado here's chapter 4 :)

_Yuck._

Mingi wakes up with a god-awful taste in his mouth and a post-it note on his pillow. He rubs the blur from his eyes, and stares down in confusion at where his pants from the night previous are tangled at his feet and his arm is half out of his shirt.

He snatches the note and squints at it. In slanting, flowery handwriting, it reads:

_hi this is jongho. last night after u dipped wy randomly ran outside and started threatening to pee in jeong’s pool out of spite so i had to deal with him. by the time i got back u were drunk? and that hongjun guy was trying to kidnap u. i told him to fuk off and sannie hyung drove us here. i tried to tuck u in and shit but u werent being cooperative. no one was home when we arrived btw do u have parents? drink water dummy bye_

Mingi cooed over the note. Jongho was so heartfelt and sweet. Mingi was reasonably well-versed in the language of the maknae of their circle and he could tell that Jongho calling him a dummy was _practically_ him saying he was his favorite hyung. He felt a little twang of guilt when his first reaction to reading that his mother had gotten home later than he had was overwhelming relief.

The color drained from Mingi’s face a moment later, as he reread the letter. Last night was…

He remembers karaoke, and Jiyeon, and dancing, and….spin the bottle. Wooyoung’s loud laughter. The scowl on Yunho’s face. Jongho taking a shot. The cacophony of teenage jeering. Hongjoong’s travelling eyes. Pushing past a boy standing at the doorway. Drinking; like an idiot. Everything after that is a blur. Mingi vaguely remembers traipsing up the stairs and lying down in a yellow room; he figures he fell asleep after that and Hongjoong must’ve found him and tried to take him home(to Jongho’s alarm).

With a miserable groan, Mingi fell back into his pillows. He desperately wished he could just burrito himself in his blankets and never have to face anyone ever again. The spin the bottle game...Hongjoong had been drinking and Mingi shouldn’t have agreed to kiss him. Mingi was perfectly sober and in his right mind - he could’ve refused and just left; what the hell was his problem? Mingi squeezed his eyes shut, berating himself. What if Hongjoong got made fun of at school for their little moment? What if he got mad at Mingi for taking advantage of him? What if he thought Mingi was creepy and weird for accepting his drunken proposition? Mingi wasn’t worried about Wooyoung - if anything the most the younger boy would do was tease him a bit about the previous night, but what Hongjoong’s reaction would be was a complete unknown.

The tall boy sighed noisily. The best he could hope for is that he’d keep his friendship with the older boy and that nothing would be awkward or stilted. It really was not his week. First the textbook thing…. _the textbook thing_.

Mingi checked his alarm clock - 11:36. He’d already wasted so many hours. Mingi stumbled out of bed, freeing himself of clinging clothing - cringing when he realized Jongho must’ve seen his duckling-print boxers - and raced to the shower.

After freshening up and trying valiantly to get his hair, fluffy and rebellious, to look somewhat presentable, Mingi grabbed his phone and wallet and wandered out to greet his mother. 

“Mingi-ah, darling!” his mom waved from where she was doing a standing stretch in front of their old television. She’d been on a bit of a health kick recently, doing all sorts of yoga to those motivational exercise demos you get in the mail. She smiled a big Saturday-morning smile at him, all strong cheekbones and crescent-moon eyes. “Did you stay up late studying again? Usually you get up so early,” she continued.

Mingi blanched. “Ah, the truth is, mom, I’m in a rush, so,” he flapped a hand. “I’m gonna go job-hunting! Loveyoubye!” Eager to escape the situation - _she thought I slept in late because I was_ studying _I’m a horrible son_ \- Mingi put his phone and wallet down, snagged his overlarge jean jacket and threw it on, reacquiring his phone and and fleeing the scene.

Mingi closed the door behind him and took the stairs to the lobby three at a time, fishing his earphones out of his pocket and putting them in. He hummed along to his music as he descended.

_Wait._

Mingi would recognize that blonde mullet anywhere - Mingi backed up into the stairwell as he spotted none other than Kim Hongjoong exiting the apartment building. Mingi was pretty sure the other boy hadn’t spotted him but it couldn’t hurt to make sure. Mingi counted down from 100 both to calm his beating heart and to wait till Hongjoong had probably gotten on his bike and left, then exited the lobby. Relieved, and feeling a bit horrible for deliberately avoiding his friend, Mingi went over to the bike rack and unlocked his.

Mingi blinked and registered that his friend’s red bicycle was still locked up at the same moment in time that a hand tugged one of his earphones out and whispered _hey._

“NO!” Mingi yelped, jumping approximately a million feet in the air. He heard gasping laughter from behind, and whirled around to see Hongjoong.

“Oh, my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d scare you,” Hongjoong managed, failing to smother his giggles.

“H-hyung!” Mingi bowed immediately. “Uh, hello, I’m sorry,” he said, awkwardly. Mingi wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“How’d you sleep last night?” Hongjoong inquired, unlocking his bike with a casual air.

Mingi stared at him, conflicted. His lips tingle with memory, and he licks them nervously before deciding to pretend as if nothing is wrong for the time-being.

“...good, uh, what about you? Like, how did you sleep?” he fumbles.

“Like a baby,” Hongjoong yawned wide and loud, like a big cat. “Honestly, I’m terrible with holding my alcohol, everything after that twister game is lost to me,” he laughs, light and airy, playing absently with the small gold hoop in his earlobe. He watches Mingi closely. “Did you have fun, though? I just remember you being there, but I’m not sure if I ever said hi.”

Mingi’s eyes widen. He had seen people playing twister way earlier in the party - definitely before spin-the-bottle. Hongjoong must not remember his blunder - that’s why he’s acting so carefree. Mingi thanks whatever power that’s looking out for him fervently.

“Ah, yeah, it was an interesting night, and I don’t think I’m very good at drinking either, I remember dancing a lot though! Then I think I fell asleep,” Mingi lies. Hongjoong smiles brightly at him. 

“Oh! Actually, I should probably get going,” Mingi says sheepishly, nodding to his bike. “I’ve got to start job-hunting - that textbook fee won’t pay itself you know!” He rambles, unlocking his bicycle and sliding onto it - only to feel a sinking in his back tire. His face falls. 

“Looks like you busted a tire,” Hongjoong hums sympathetically, kneeling down to inspect the back wheel. Mingi curses whatever power that’s picking on him fervently.

“Oh, geez,” Mingi frets. “If it were just a leak it’d be fine, are you sure it’s busted?”

Hongjoong nods his head solemnly. Mingi’s head thunks against his handlebars.

“Hey, hey, c’mon,” Hongjoong’s gentle hands urge him to make eye contact. “Let’s just take mine. I’ll come with you.”

Mingi’s eyes glisten. He really doesn’t deserve Hongjoong. “Really?! Thank you so much!”

A few minutes later, Mingi is staring at Hongjoong uncertainly.  
“Get on, loser, we’re going shopping.”

“You’re….really embarrassing.”

“See if I don’t rescind my offer to give you a ride. Keep testing me, Song Mingi-ah.”

Mingi eyes the bike with unsureness. “Uh, hyung?”

“Yes?”

“...shouldn’t I ride in the front if I’m bigger?”

Hongjoong shakes his head sagely. “Nah. It’s all to do with center of gravity, and equal force.”

Mingi squints, thinking privately that those reasons sound kind of like bullshit but Mingi can’t articulate how.

“Are you sure that’s how it works?”

“Mingi-ah. Do you trust me?” Hongjoong stares at him, intense.

Mingi relents and climbs on the back of the bike, hesitantly clinging to Hongjoong’s waist at his urging. He's petite - Mingi knows this objectively, but Hongjoong is the type of person who's presence is so big you sort of forget he occasionally has to shop for jeans in the juniors section.

“Are you going to be able to peddle? I’m heavy and you’re so little,” Mingi hedges, jolting at the smack to his knee for daring to bring up Hongjoong’s height.

“You’re not even heavy. Now, stop doubting me and my calves and just _believe_.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

The way to the commercial district was mostly downhill, luckily for their awkward arrangement. On a particularly big hill, they just glided, Hongjoong’s long hair lifting in the breeze and Mingi laughing delightedly at their speed. Once they got to the shop-lined streets they both got off, walking along and pulling the bike in between them.

“You’re actually pretty strong!” Mingi enthused. “That was so fun - I haven’t done anything so reckless and irresponsible on a bicycle in years!”

Hongjoong side-eyed Mingi for his subtle jab but chose to ignore it in favor of preening. He puffed his chest out. “Yeah? Was I cool?” he inquired smugly.

Mingly nods, genuinely. “The coolest,” he asserts.

Hongjoong smiles a small smile. “Yeah?” he says softly. “Was it like a scene from one of your dram-”

Mingi, not really listening, zeroes in on the flush on the older boy’s face.

“Joongie-hyung, you should tell me if you’re feeling dehydrated,” Mingi interrupts, scoldingly, securing the older boy’s wrist and tugging him and the bicycle towards a convenience store. “Come on, let’s get you a drink, I can’t believe you did all that work and weren’t gonna tell me you’re tired!”

Hongjoong protests loudly but Mingi ignores it. He was probably just embarrassed.

Inside the store, Mingi beelines for the slushie rack. His eyes linger on the blue raspberry, his favorite flavor, before surveying the rest. He turns to see Hongjoong staring at him. 

“Hyung? Which one is your favorite? These things are super refreshing,” Mingi informs him.

“Huh? Oh, uh. The blue-raspberry. It’s my favorite,” Hongjoong says, tugging at his earrings. They grab the drink and head towards the counter.

Mingi’s face falls when he realizes belatedly that he must’ve left his wallet at home in the rush to leave. The employee behind the counter raises an eyebrow like she’s judging him unimaginably hard for not having money to buy a slushie.

“Geez,” Mingi mumbled. “I meant to treat you hyung, but I can’t even do that,” he begins to apologize, but Hongjoong smoothly slides over his own cash, grabbing the slushie and Mingi’s hand. 

They walk around around outside, keeping an eye out for job posting. Mingi is pretty sure Hongjoong forgot to let go of his hand, but he’s too awkward to call him out on it.

“Hyung, don’t you like it?” Mingi gestured to the slushie Hongjoong still hadn’t touched.

Hongjoong startles. “What? No, this is my favorite flavor,” he sips at it enthusiastically. 

“Mmmm! Tasty! Mingi-ah, you try it, I feel super refreshed,” the older boy enthuses, pushing the drink towards Mingi.

“Oh, no, it’s for you -”

“And _i’m_ saying you should try it -”

“Really, how selfish would I be if I drank it -”

“Not at all! In fact I think it’d be more selfish to _refuse_ ”

“But it’s yours -”

“And I’m handing it to you!” Hongjoong pushes the drink more insistently at Mingi and he caves, slipping his hand out of Hongjoong’s grip to hold it and take a sip from Hongjoong’s straw. Delicious artificial sweetness coats his tongue, chill sending a pang of discomfort to his temples when Mingi drinks too quickly. 

“These things are like crack to me,” Mingi says, with feeling. He drinks some more.

Hongjoong snorts at his dramatics.

“No, you think I’m joking, but these things are addicting,” Mingi whines. 

“Like, there was this convenience store right outside my middle school back home, right? Every Friday, practically the entire second year class would flood the place, all armed with their mom’s pocket change. It was ridiculous. And then we’d sit outside on the curb after we bought our slushies - someone probably should’ve told us off for loitering, but no one ever did. God, I think I spent almost of a third of that year with chronic brainfreeze,” Mingi recounts fondly. 

“...you really miss it, huh?” Hongjoong says, oddly serious.

Mingi laughs to lighten the mood. “Middle school? God, no. I’m pretty sure I repressed that entire chapter of my life. Or maybe my memory cells from back then all just froze to death,” he contemplates jokingly.

“No, I mean...your home. You miss living there, right?” Hongjoong asks again. They keep strolling down the sidewalks. A man in a suit walks by them, toddler laughing on his shoulders. Mingi watches them pass.

Mingi exhales. “I mean, a little bit,” he admits, embarrassed at his transparency. “I guess I miss some things. Everyone’s a lot more open, back home. A little kinder, maybe? And it always sucks being the new kid, especially so late in life. And a lot of the beautiful things back home you just can’t find in Seoul,” he lists, then backtracks. He doesn’t want Hongjoong to think he’s ungrateful for the once in a lifetime opportunity to study and network in the fastest moving city in Korea. “I’m glad to be here, though!”

“And besides; I’ve got you, hyung! So I don’t suffer too much,” Mingi finishes with a grin, nudging the blonde boy’s shoulder. Hongjoong’s eyes widen fractionally.

“Yah, and you were calling _me_ lame earlier,” Hongjoong grumbles. “You’re so sappy.” he takes the slushie from Mingi and gulps several times in succession, suppressing a grimace. 

Mingi shrugs, smiling. 

\------------------------------------------------------------

The pair get back to their apartment building by 4pm - they’d snagged several fliers for Mingi’s potential employment. One stop was a coffeeshop - the type of establishment that had an unfortunate sort of artsy appeal - mismatched furniture, plants in odd places, children’s drawings framed on the wall - exactly the sort of a place a SAEPA student would avoid like the plague. Naturally, Mingi loved it. And they were hiring. Aside from that place, there was a flier for a dog walker stuck to a stop-sign that Mingi grabbed - the black and white grainily printed photos of said dogs Mingi cooed over for a solid two minutes - and an ad for a babysitter in the window of a music shop.

“I feel like you’d be good with kids.”

“Honestly? They terrify me. Actually, I think kids have terrified me ever since I _was_ a kid.”

“What do you mean _was_?”

“Hyung, you’re a dickhead.”

After wandering around the city for a while more, they returned to their respective dwellings. Mingi waved to Hongjoong after walking him to his floor, and went up the stairs to his own apartment with a skip in his step. Mingi hung up his jacket and slid off his shoes. 

“Eomma?” he called. No answer. Mingi wandered into the living room, and there he saw it.

His mother was lying in fetal position on the carpet. She was breathing shallowly, one hand covering her face and the other clenched around her shut laptop. Stray post-it notes were scattered nonsensically around her sprawled limbs.

“Eomma,” Mingi intoned. “Why are you like this. I almost tripped over you.”

His mother sat up with an anguished cry. “Mingi-ah, don’t ever become an artist. They lie to you, they say it’s _fun_ ,” she seethed. “What’s fun about stress ulcers, darling? _Absolutely nothing._ Nothing is fun about stress ulcers.”

“Eomma. You’re an artist. You write for a living. I’m going to school...to enter an artistic field.”

“My poor, poor fool of a son. I’m so sorry for leading you astray.”

Mingi gave a mighty roll of his eyes and looped his arms under hers. “Up, up you go,” he instructed, pulling her onto a chair and setting her laptop in front of her. “When’s your deadline?” he questioned, gathering the hastily scribbled sticky notes he couldn’t even begin to decipher and putting them into a neat pile to her right. 

She turned dead, sunken eyes on him. “I got the call this morning at around 12 saying that I have an economics column due a week earlier than I had agreed upon. Something something corporate _bullshit_.”

Mingi winced in sympathy, and set about making a coffee. When he was finished, he set it down in front of his mom, before raising a fist in a silent ‘fighting’ gesture.

“I believe in you,” he announced, then paused. “Also please don’t do your writer panic thing in the hallway again like you did last month the landlord was really scared and also I think there’s still coffee stains in that carpet.” he rushed out, narrowly ducking a flying slipper with a laugh.

“Writer’s block is a physical ailment and all you do is laugh at my condition!” came his mother’s outraged cry from the other room. Mingi snorted.

Mingi puttered around on his phone for a while, before rising from his bed and sitting down at his desk. Grabbing his stationary box, Mingi set about writing his penpal back. It had been a few days before Mingi had received the last letter, and he didn't want to get behind in their correspondence. 

_Hey, J._

_Honestly, I feel the opposite. Life is going by a little too fast, lately, and sometimes it seems like - you know how when you look through a glass bottle, and everything is a little wonky? That’s what is is for me right now - everything’s a little strange. You’re not, though. You never are.  
I went to my first high-society Seoul party. Honestly, I kind of expected more out of it - maybe kids swinging from chandeliers, a chocolate fountain, maybe a fancy calligraphy invite - nah. It was kind of underwhelming. I know you’re going to tease me for it but I think I’d have preferred to stay home and watch a movie or something. Oh - Mom’s doing alright. She’s in a bit of a creativity drought right now, but she’ll get over it. Your sister got another tattoo? Did your mom and dad hit the roof? Geez, I’m sorry you have to deal with that. They shouldn’t take it out on you, you know that, right? Just remember to write to me when you’re stressed. I find that always helps.  
You’re so cheesy. Well, it’s funny you should mention it...there’s this guy, okay, and…_

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Some weeks later, Mingi’s first day at work looms. He stands outside of that rinky-dink coffeeshop he first visited with Hongjoong, trying to sync his breathing with the sluggish flashing of the neon sign that reads _Campfire Cafe_ in sickly orange.

Inside, it’s empty, but a woman croons softly to jazz instrumentals through speakers placed throughout the sitting area. On a shelf near the coffee-making stations, stuffed animals sit - the sign placed above the shelf says _for solo drinkers._ Some of the tiles in the floor are mismatched - alternatively greyish blue and greyish green. At the ordering counter, an actual bell sits. RING ME is written in black sharpie on the handle.

Psyching himself up, Mingi strides into the shop with confidence, walking up to the counter and ringing the bell. The guy behind the counter sets down a bag of coffee beans, wipes his hands on his apron, and turns around with a charming, easy smile.

“Welcome to Campfire Cafe, what would you like...to drink.” he trails off, eyes wide and mouth parted. Mingi is similarly shocked. His grip on the bell in his hands loosens in surprise and it lands upright on the counter with a _clang_.

“You?” Mingi gaped uselessly at Park Seonghwa, clad in a stained black apron and spectacles, looking regal and out-of-place despite his less-than-formal dress. The older boy stared perplexedly back at him, as if Mingi was the one in a place he shouldn't be. Mingi felt like he’d taken a step inside the cafe and fell right into the twilight zone - there was no other explanation.

Why would Seonghwa have a job? And, beyond that, why at such a...Mingi hated to say _low class_ but this cafe, with its fairy lights flickering distressedly and secondhand-store bookshelves, was by no stretch of the imagination in Seonghwa’s income bracket. There was no feasible explanation as to why Park Seonghwa, _the_ Park Seonghwa, untouchable from his gleaming pedestal of looks, grades, talent, and money, was standing stock-still behind the granite counter.

“Why are you here?” Seonghwa demanded, moving swiftly out from behind the bar and stalking up to Mingi. “Who told you to come here?”

Mingi raised his hands defensively, gaping at the older boy’s accusatory tone. “No one _told_ me to!” Mingi reconsiders, and rushes to correct himself. “I mean, I was told to, by the boss? Because I kind of work here, now at least. Do you really work here? Why would you work here?” 

Seonghwa makes a face like he’s just tasted something particularly sour. Mingi is so intimidated by how he remains photogenic in spite of this he almost forgets to be offended.

“Why are you working? What do you want to buy so badly that you have to get a part-time job?” The dark-haired boy responds, disgruntled. Mingi squints at him, not entirely sure how the hell his motives for getting a job are any of Seonghwa’s business, and even more perplexed as to why Seonghwa assumes Mingi is there frivolously, out of a desire for some spare pocket change.

Mingi opens his mouth to argue exactly that - before he remembers that the person standing in front of him is the reason Mingi has been so stressed about getting a job in the first place. Seonghwa was the reason Mingi was down a textbook and left with no other choice than to cram in a job in addition to his rigorous academic and family responsibilities. A spark of annoyance simmered in Mingi’s gut.

“First of all,” Mingi begins, eyes narrowing. “You wanna know why I’m working? Wanna know why I need the money?”

Seonghwa nods, slowly, looking wary at Mingi’s sudden shift in tone.

“You might not realize this, and I can’t blame you for it,” Mingi steps forward, getting into Seonghwa’s space this time, irritation giving him confidence. “But not everyone can afford to spend meaninglessly. Sometimes, an extra expense that hasn’t been accounted for can mean the difference between whether or not you and your family go to sleep with food in your belly. So, when some person -” Mingi licks his lips, and rephrases, poking a finger directly into Seonghwa’s chest. “- when some _jerk_ decided to knock coffee all over my _expensive textbook_ because of his ridiculous grudge, effectively ruining it and ensuring a hefty fine, getting a job was my only option because I can barely afford to live in this ridiculous city in the _first place_ , even less so with that big of an additional expense.” Mingi finished, and pauses, before adding, with fake cheer, “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”

By the end of his little rant, Seonghwa is looking equal parts queasy and annoyed. Good. He’s been making Mingi uncomfortable since his very first day; it’s only fair he gets a taste of the feeling. The taller boy waits for Seonghwa’s response - he doesn’t know what he’s expecting, really. His shoulders are tense, almost expecting to get hit. The feeling of invincibility that came with his righteous anger has faded, and now Mingi is biting his cheek, worried about the potential fallout for starting a fight on his very first day.

“Quit.” is Seonghwa’s dispassionate response, face carefully schooled into a mask of indifference. “You don’t need to be here.” And with that, Seonghwa returns to his spot behind the counter, a tangible barrier between himself and the younger boy.

Mingi doesn’t even know what to say to that. It’s like everything he’d just said had flown in through one of the spectacled boy’s ears and out the other. Everytime Mingi thought he had the upper hand, Seonghwa came up with new and innovative ways to pull the rug out from under him. Mingi feels like he could cry - not out of hurt or sadness but just from the sheer frustration of it all. Taking a deep breath through his nose, Mingi shakes his head and marches determinedly behind the counter.

“The owner said that whoever was on shift today would help me learn how to make some basic drinks.” Mingi says, as civilly as possible. This could work. They’ll both just ignore the elephant in the room and do their jobs and it won’t be too excruciating. If, of course, Seonghwa plays along.

“And I said you need to quit.” Seonghwa offers, resolutely ignoring Mingi’s presence. Mingi’s eye twitched.

“You know what? Whatever, then,” he grumbled. “You’d probably be a crappy teacher, anyway.” he says under his breath, but judging by how Seonghwa’s hand tightened on the coffee pot in his grasp he heard it loud and clear. 

The rest of their shift goes like this: Mingi uses his phone to look up recipes and barista tips on the great wide web, and Seonghwa pretends he doesn’t exist, only occasionally acknowledging the younger boy’s presence in order to urge him to quit. Mingi tries once to weasel out of him the reason as to why he’s working at Campfire Cafe, of all places, but he’s met with a scoff and more silence. After a while, he lays the subject to rest and just focuses on self-teaching as fast as he can.

This frigidity goes on for the next week - because they’re both part-timers, with the same schedule due to attending SAEPA, they’re always on the same shift, starting an hour afterschool. Mingi is more and more tired every day - it’s already dark by the time he rides home, and he stays up late completing his assignments and prepping food for the next day. Mingi isn’t proud of the frequency at which he’s been falling asleep at his desk.

The tension breaks, somewhat, the following Tuesday, and it’s by a complete stroke of luck - or perhaps misfortune would be closer to the truth.

Mingi had been frantically studying for English, his worst subject, till into the early hours of the morning previously. It was a combination of that and his growing frustration with Seonghwa’s silence and his own inability to correctly draw a stupid fucking latte art cat in his cup that he made the mistake he did. 

Mingi has misjudged the amount of hot cream that was in the metal pitcher severely - so when he carelessly tipped the thing over to pour into his mug, the rush of liquid startled him and he lost his grip on the pitcher. 

Instead of just letting it fall to the floor harmlessly - because the damn thing was spill-proof, anyway - Mingi’s first reaction was to grab it before it made contact. His hand closed around the searing hot neck of the pitcher, missing the handle completely. 

Mingi let go of it just as soon as he had grabbed it, but the damage was done. He yelped, a sharp, hurt noise that jarred with the soft music playing over the speakers.

He cradled his hand to his chest, wincing up at the ceiling through blurred vision and steeling himself to look down at the burn and judge its seriousness.

Before he could gather the courage, a strong grip tugged his wrist out in front of him. Seonghwa, looking at frazzled as Mingi had ever seen him, inspected the angry red welting on Mingi’s palm for a moment before tugging him over to the sink and thrusting his hand under the cold water. Mingi instinctively tried to yank it back - it _hurt_ , goddamnit, but Seonghwa wasn’t having it, just squeezed his wrist warningly and holding it in place under the flow of the tap. After a few minutes of awkwardness, the two boys crowded over the sink basin, Mingi speaks up.

“I’m probably fine now,” he said in a whisper, then wondered why the fuck he was whispering. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. “It’s not even that bad of a burn, to be honest. You can let go,” he lies. His hand is pulsing painfully, and Mingi's eyes are wet with tears that refuse to fall and instead stick around to cloud his vision. Mingi tries to blink them away.

And Seonghwa does let go - only to slip a finger into the loop of Mingi’s apron and begin pulling him over to the other side of the bar. Seonghwa crowds him onto one of the barstools, pressing Mingi back until the seat of it is pressing into Mingi's lower back, and he has no choice but to take a seat. The dark-haired boy turns around and beelines to the storage room.

Mingi stares after him, completely bewildered. Why was Seonghwa even bothering to make sure his hand was alright? He’d been ignoring his very existence for the past week but one measly burn and he wants to play nurse? Mingi really didn’t understand that guy. 

Seconds later, Seonghwa returned with a small red first-aid kit in hand, and placed it on the bar, standing uncomfortably close between Mingi’s legs from where the taller boy was seated on the stool.

“Give me your hand, please.” Seonghwa said, almost softly. Mingi was so taken aback he complied instantly. Seonghwa immediately set about dressing his injury with the gauze from the first-aid kit, and Mingi stared at the ceiling. He felt abruptly and strangely embarrassed of his hands - they were rough at the fingertips, calloused from years of transcribing hundreds of essays and raps by hand for lack of a computer, and bigger than Seonghwa’s, if only slightly. His fingers were knobby. Seonghwa had what Mingi’s mom would probably dub ‘piano-hands’, deft and elegant. Mingi wondered if he played. 

“Uh, thank you,” Mingi said, haltingly, after Seonghwa had finished wrapping his palm. The older boy lingered in his space, looking conflicted, before finally returning his hand to him and returning to the other side of the counter and beginning to rustle around.

Mingi sighed, audibly. So much for something having changed - Seonghwa must’ve just felt a brief pang of compassion and gotten over it just as quick. He’s back to ignoring Mingi, as usual.

“Why are you always telling me to quit? Do you really hate me that much?” Mingi thinks out loud, too exhausted and a little shaky from the shock of the burn to care about his filter. “I don’t know why you work here, and honestly, I think it’s kinda weird. Is this some sort of social experiment to see how the other half lives? Regardless, I haven’t gossiped about it to anyone at our school or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. But - like, it can’t be just this job. You’ve disliked me from the very beginning and I just want to know wh-” Mingi is working himself up, words falling carelessly from his mouth like water spilling over the top of glass, full to bursting. 

Seonghwa turns and slides a white, ceramic mug across the bar to sit in front of Mingi. Steam rises from the cup, carrying a rich mocha scent that Mingi recognizes as his favorite of the options offered in the cafe. On the surface of the liquid, a cartoonish cat face smiles up at him from where it is drawn in cream. Mingi realizes, belatedly, that Seonghwa had been remaking the drink that Mingi had completely butchered before burning himself whilst Mingi had lectured and berated him from behind the counter.

Mingi’s ears flushed red, and he ducked his head a little, feeling a tad ungrateful even if he knew _logically_ that his qualms were valid regardless of Seonghwa making him a drink.

“You didn’t have to,” Mingi says, bashfully, because his mother did indeed raise him with manners. He moves to accept the drink even as a paranoid thought about _what if he spat in it_ flashes through his mind. It escapes his notice completely that to have realized Mingi was trying to draw a cat before he dropped the cream pitcher, Seonghwa must have been observing Mingi fairly closely before.

“Next time, if the pitcher is full and it’s that high of a temperature, you have to use the gloves.” Seonghwa demands. “You’re lucky the burn wasn’t worse.”

Mingi bows his head. “I will, I’m sorry. Uhm, thank you for your concern!” He adds the last bit on as an afterthought - perhaps, now that the ice has been broken, he and Seonghwa can get along a little better. Mingi smiles brightly at the older boy, cupping his drink in his good hand and taking a sip, mourning the death of his delicious feline friend. He thinks he sees Seonghwa swallow with difficulty before looking away.

“I’d prefer not to get involved in a lawsuit for not providing employees with proper safety equipment, is all.” comes his stilted reply. Mingi’s gut instinct is annoyance - but he takes a breath instead, accepting that maybe Seonghwa’s is just _really, really bad_ at interacting with other human beings and has simply gotten away with it all this time because of his wealth and popularity. He tries again, valiantly.

“Still, I really appreciate your help, and, well, since we’re going to be working together anyway, at least, y’know, for the time being, I want to get along, so,” Mingi hems and haws. “....can I call you hyung?”

Seonghwa’s hand reaches up to adjust his glasses - Mingi wonders why he only sees him wear them at work - in what Mingi might call a nervous tic if he didn’t know any better. Yeah, right. Mingi wasn’t sure if Seonghwa got nervous about anything. People like Seonghwa had nothing to be nervous _about_.

“We don’t need to be familiar. Please quit soon.” Seonghwa says, that odd sour look crossing his face for a moment before he turns and ignores Mingi’s pestering, going back to washing dishes. Mingi feels horribly insulted that clean-up duty was preferable to speaking with him, apparently.

The now-commonplace rebuke stings, but when Mingi gets up to resume work, Seonghwa turns a withering gaze on him, shaming him back into his seat on the barstool. The duality of the dark-haired boy's random bouts of concern versus his overall disdain for Mingi is whiplash-inducing - he wonders how so many contradictions can exist in one person. He wonders if all those contrasting feelings give Seonghwa indigestion.

Mingi pouts about being delegated to the metaphorical bench for the rest of his shift, and gets back at Seonghwa by talking his ear off about all sorts of mundane things for the remainder of their time. Seonghwa can hate him all he wants - Mingi, for one, is tired of playing along with all the animosity. Seonghwa is his co-worker, and goddamnit Mingi is going to treat him as such. 

Seonghwa never responds to him; not even with an occasional grunt of acknowledgement or a nod. One the flip side, though? He doesn’t tell Mingi to shut up once for the next four hours, nor does he bait him to quit again.

He decides to count it as a win. Seonghwa, 0. Song Mingi: 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! you might've noticed I've done some rebranding. I've made a twitter and my username is @dayatiny and you all can yell at me to write on there!! ill be posting wips on there eventually and talking about this story but mostly crying about song mingi. I figured its an easier way for you all to get notified when I update too! I hope we can all be friends!  
> this chapter was pretty fun to write!! nothing too dramatic happened but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless :) im sorry that this was a couple days late hjsdhsjj it's a combination of being busy irl and being consumed by crippling doubt about my writing ability #justauthorthingz but ill try to be better about it in the future, this fic still has a long way to go and I wanna churn out chapters quick!! as always thank you so much for reading and please let me know what you think <3 and make sure to follow on twt @dayatiny !!!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! tell me your thoughts and I'll get back to you :) comments are a writer's lifeblood! the acronym for this work is smatib so if you mention it on twt I'll see it too :)


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